Looking for a Dream
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Sometimes, the past just can't stay there. Sometimes, even when you don't remember, it scares you. Entry for the NFA Nightmare and Heroes Have the Right to Bleed challenges. Tim-centered story. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is an entry for two NFA challenges: The Nightmare challenge and the Heroes Have The Right to Bleed challenge. The latter challenge was to write a story which interpreted the lyrics to the Five for Fighting song "Superman". Thus, I've included some of them at the beginning and then they'll show up again at the very end. It is _not, _however, a songfic. The title comes from the song and I've referenced it, but to me, the two challenges dovetailed nicely into each other because of the mention of dreams.

**A/N2:** I never do this, but I need to mention one other point. There will be a few spoilers for season 7, maybe a mention or two of season 8 stuff in this story, but nothing major. However, this is a story which does _not_ use my personal fanon of Sam and Naomi McGee as Tim's parents. I have, out of necessity, made a different backstory. I hope you still enjoy it. The first chapter is fairly gruesome, but it calms down dramatically after that.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. I'm poor. I have no money. NCIS and its characters do not belong to me. I'm not making money off this story. Yadda yadda yadda, et cetera and so forth.

* * *

**Looking for a Dream  
**by Enthusiastic Fish

_I wish that I could cry  
__Fall upon my knees  
__Find a way to lie  
__About a home I'll never see_

_It may sound absurd...but don't be naive  
__Even heroes have the right to bleed  
__I may be disturbed...but won't you concede  
__Even heroes have the right to dream  
__It's not easy to be me  
_"Superman" by Five for Fighting

**Chapter 1**

_Twenty-three years ago..._

"Do you ever wonder why people don't bother saying they've been worried until they can smell something coming out the windows?" Detective Branson asked.

"No. I gave up on wondering about people a long time ago. You should try it. You'd be a lot happier, I think," Detective Jones said with a world-weary sigh. "The real question is what are they smelling? Spoiling food or decaying bodies?"

"I hope for the former," Branson said grimly, but he pulled out his gun. "You knock."

Jones nodded and pounded on the front door of the small two-story house. It was in a quiet neighborhood in the suburbs of Baltimore, and the pounding seemed to echo in the silence.

"Baltimore PD! Open up!"

No sound. Jones reached out and tried the door. It opened. He looked at Branson who lifted his gun while Jones drew his.

Together, the two detectives stepped inside the house.

"This is the Baltimore police!" Jones called out again. Still nothing. The smell was in the air. Something was rotting.

"That's not spoiled food," Branson whispered.

Jones didn't bother to reply. They began to methodically clear each room of the house. There was nothing on the ground floor except for the stench they began to suspect was coming from upstairs. The study had been trashed, but other than that there was no sign of anyone.

"Upstairs," Jones said softly and they walked up together. Branson took point with Jones in the rear. Up...a pause on the landing and up again. The second floor had three bedrooms and a bathroom.

One bedroom obviously belonged to a young boy. Another looked like a spare room.

The master bedroom door was closed, but the smell got much worse when they reached it.

They counted down silently and Branson kicked in the door...and promptly nearly threw up from the overpowering odor of decaying flesh. It had been hot in Baltimore the last few days. The bedroom window was open and two people lay on the floor. Dead. Bugs crawling around on the decaying corpses. A woman and a man. They both had hair that was obviously dyed black and their clothes marked them as possibly being Goth. Strange for the area. No details of the woman's face could be discerned. The man didn't have the look of a Goth, but considering the fact that he had maggots crawling all over the gaping wound in his throat, it would be wrong to jump to conclusions. Branson stared. He wasn't new to the job, but he didn't have the years of experience Jones possessed, and he was horrified by the sight.

"It wasn't spoiled food," Jones said.

"Yeah."

"The bathroom?"

"No one has seen the boy either for the last four days."

Figuring that they'd be finding another corpse, the two detectives headed for the closed door, carefully stepping over the bodies which lay in front of it. Branson pulled it open and then jumped back as bullets flew through it.

"Baltimore PD!" he shouted. "Drop your weapon!"

Ten bullets...and they thought they could hear someone crying beneath the sound of gunfire.

"Can you see anything?" Branson asked.

"Nothing! Stop firing! Drop your weapon and come out with your hands up!"

Still the bullets continued...and then stopped after ten. ...and they heard a clicking sound as if someone was still pulling the trigger. The crying was louder.

"Hello?" Branson called out.

_Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click._

He looked at Jones who aimed his gun around the door and took a step. Branson also aimed his gun but stayed back, ready to cover Jones if something happened.

_Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click._

Jones walked forward into the bathroom. There was a series of holes in an opaque shower curtain which had been drawn around the claw-footed tub.

_Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click._

"Hey, who's back there?" Jones asked. He was ready to fire, but he was beginning to think that he wouldn't need to. He nodded to Branson to be ready and reached out to grasp one side of the curtain with a steady hand. He mouthed his countdown.

_Three, two, one..._

He ripped the curtain open.

"I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything!" The shrill voice instantly filled the bathroom. The small boy in the bathtub held a gun in his hands and continued to shout the same sentence over and over again.

Jones quickly holstered his gun and crouched down in front of the boy who was staring at him but not really seeing him.

"I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything!"

"Hey, it's okay. It's all right if you didn't hear anything," he said. "I'll just take this gun from you, okay?"

The boy continued to shout the same sentence and when Jones touched the gun, he started pulling the trigger again, still shouting. No bullets, just that clicking sound.

"It's empty. No more bullets, son. Just let it go," Jones said in his best cajoling voice. He was good at getting his own kids to do what he wanted when he spoke like this, but then, his kids weren't generally shouting at the top of their lungs either.

"I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything!"

"Okay, okay. I'm just going to get in the tub with you. Sit next to you until you're ready."

Suiting actions to words, Jones climbed in beside the boy and sat silently. Branson came into view and the boy started pulling the trigger again.

"Branson, go downstairs and wait, okay? Let me handle this."

"Okay."

"I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything!"

Then, it was just the two of them, and Jones waited silently. After five minutes the boy suddenly stopped shouting. The gun was lowered and he turned toward Jones, finally seeing him. He stared without speaking.

"Hi," Jones said.

"Hi." The boy's voice was hoarse after all his shouting.

"I'm Detective Uriah Jones. You can call me Uri."

"When did you get here?" the boy asked conversationally.

"A few minutes ago."

"Oh. Did you meet my parents?"

"No... not formally."

The boy nodded and held out his hand. Jones took it and then was surprised to be led out of the bathroom and to the decaying corpses of two people who must have been the boy's parents.

"Mom, Dad. This is Uri. Uri, this is Mom and Dad. They're dressed up special."

"I can see that. Will you come downstairs with me?"

A cloud of worry darkened the large green eyes.

"Oh, no. I'm not supposed to go downstairs. Daddy told me to stay in here...where it's safe."

"Safe from what?"

The boy began to look frightened. He glanced around the bedroom and then pulled his hand away from Jones'. He ran back into the bathroom, into the bathtub and closed the curtain.

Jones walked back into the bathroom and knocked on the curtain.

"Hey, it's Uri. Can I come in?"

"Come in...but don't open the curtain. It's not safe."

"Okay." Jones squeezed in around the curtain. The boy was sitting on the floor of the tub, gun in hand, knees drawn up to his chest.

"How long are you staying?"

"As long as you are."

"Really?"

"Yes. How long are _you_ staying?"

"I don't know. Until Daddy tells me it's safe to come out. I've been waiting."

"Where did you get the gun?"

Again, that cloud.

"When I'm thirsty, I turn on the water, but I'm getting hungry. I wish Daddy would tell me to come out."

"What's your name, son?"

"My dad is really smart. He knows lots. He collects guns and he even showed me how to use them just so that I wouldn't make a mistake with it."

"Hey, can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Your dad...he can't tell you to come out."

The cloud darkened.

"Why not?"

"Because, son...he's dead."

"No. No." The boy began to shake his head and pull back. "No! I showed you! I introduced you!"

"They're dead, son. I'm sorry, but you need to come out of here with me."

"No! Not until Daddy says so!" His voice began to grow louder and higher. "Not until Daddy says I can go! I promised!" Then, he got out of the tub and ran into the bedroom. "Daddy, I promised I wouldn't! Tell me it's okay to go! Tell me so that Uri can take me out! Tell me, Daddy! Tell me!"

Jones came out and knelt beside the distraught child.

"He can't hear you, son. He's dead."

"No! He's moving!"

The maggots.

"Daddy, tell him! Tell him you're not dead!"

The boy began to shake...until it became such a violent tremor that the gun he'd been holding so tightly slipped from his grasp. Jones took his hand.

"He's not moving, son."

The boy's lower lip began to quiver. "Daddy? Daddy?"

"I'm sorry."

"Mommy?"

Jones wanted to make him come away, but if he'd been staring at these corpses for days, there was probably little he hadn't already seen. He put an arm around the shaking body.

"Will you come downstairs with me?"

"Daddy..."

"Come on."

Jones tried to lead him away, but he resisted for a few seconds before becoming almost boneless. Jones picked him up and carried him out of the house and then sat with him on the front porch.

"What's your name, son?" he asked.

No answer to the question, just the awful, awful shaking.

"Are you hungry?"

A nod in the midst of the shaking.

"Branson, see if you can find something for the kid to eat."

"Sure thing, Uri."

"How old are you?" Jones asked.

"T-T-Ten."

"That's a good age. What are you learning at school?"

No answer.

"Do you like music?"

No answer.

"I do, especially jazz. You'll have to listen to some of it when you get a chance. It's the best music there is."

No answer. Branson came over with a candy bar he'd found in the car and a bottle of water.

"It's not much, but it's better than nothing."

"I'll open it for you, kid."

"Th-Th-Thanks."

He handed it to him, but the boy was still shaking so much that he couldn't keep a grip on the candy bar; so Jones held it and broke off pieces for him which he obediently put in his mouth.

"Do you like to read?"

A nod.

"What kind of books?"

He swallowed. "D-Det-t-tective n-novels."

"Excellent. The best kind."

The ambulance, along with about five squad cars, arrived twenty minutes later. Jones was surprised when the boy leaned back against him, trying to get away from the EMTs who had come over to get him.

"It's all right, kid. They're not going to hurt you."

"S-Stay with y-you."

"No, you need to go with them to the hospital. It'll be okay."

"N-No."

The shaking had ebbed slightly, but that same frightened shadow darkened his eyes.

"You can go with him, Uri. I'll hold down the fort here," Branson said.

It wasn't about that, but about the wisdom of letting this kid form an attachment that couldn't be permanent. Still...it didn't look like he had anyone else at the moment.

"Okay."

He got up and walked beside the gurney as they headed to the ambulance. Just before the EMTs loaded him in, the boy stuck out his hand.

"M-My dad w-wanted me to be a gentleman. I'm T-Timothy M-McG-Gee."

"Nice to meet you, Timothy."

Tim was loaded into the ambulance and they drove away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Present..._

Tim looked at a rough-drawn picture. He'd kept it since he was very young...but he could have easily reproduced it, even now. It was the only way he could draw his parents. The first time he'd done it, he hadn't even been able to tell them why. When he actually _thought_ of his parents, he saw them how they had been alive. He didn't even consciously _remember_ them dead...but whenever he tried to draw them, it always came out like this, even after more than twenty years. He had asked his therapist about it when he had reached the level of maturity to wonder about it...and received no real answer. His dreams were full of images of dead bodies...always. ...but he couldn't think why those bodies gave him no real fear. They had ceased being nightmares after about ten years and were just part of who he was...except when he was really stressed out; then, the shadows, which he assumed must represent his parents' killers, appeared. Those were the dreams he hated, the ones that woke him up with his heart in his throat, his stomach tied in knots.

He looked at the picture again, the mangled bodies of his parents and poured a glass of champagne. Tonight was an important night. His parents had started dating and been surprised to find that they shared a birthday. Tim smiled, remembering how they had told the story to him when he was old enough to understand it. Then, they had purposely decided to get married on the same day, figuring it was fate. They had even tried to time Tim's own birth to coincide, but had failed in that. Tim had come along in his own good time. They told him that they wanted to get at least one child on the same day and were willing to keep trying. That part, Tim _hadn't_ understood, although he had laughed when they did.

Tonight was his parents' birthdays and their anniversary. He toasted the picture he'd drawn and drank. Then, he put the bottle away. This wasn't about drinking away his sorrows, but was his own way of remembering his parents...without stepping back into the past too far. No one had ever been able to get him beyond whatever mental block existed which kept him from relating what he must have witnessed...and after a few years, they had stopped trying, focusing instead on working through his trauma, hoping that he would remember on his own once he felt it was safe to do so.

It had never happened.

His parents' case was still unsolved. They had never found the evidence needed to point them toward anyone...except for their ten-year-old son. Tim grimaced at the thought, not wanting to remember that.

_That's far enough into the past, Tim. Go to bed._

Tim took a breath and stood up. He carried the picture back to his writing desk and tucked it lovingly away.

"Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad," he said softly and went to bed.

...but the past has a way of coming back.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Twenty-three years ago..._

"Hello, my...my nephew is supposed to be here. Timothy McGee?"

The nurse looked up and met the gaze of a man both grieving and concerned. He hid it pretty well, but not well enough.

"Timothy McGee?" she repeated. "Yes, he's here with us. He's just down the hall here, room 607. His doctor should be there already."

"Thank you."

The two reached the room right as a doctor was coming out.

"Tim is in there?"

The doctor blinked in surprise at the abrupt greeting and then her face smoothed into sympathy.

"You're Dan McGee?"

"Yes. This is my wife, Maria."

"I'm Dr. Bartschi."

"Is Tim all right?"

"Physically, he has only the bruises and scrapes one would expect of an active boy his age. He seems to have suffered no physical injury. He was certainly hungry, but even that didn't leave the kind of damage it could have...and in the two days since he came here, he's completely bounced back from that...as kids often do."

"But?" Maria asked.

"But, as you might well imagine, his mental and emotional health is a very different story. He hasn't been able to talk about what happened at all yet. Every attempt has led to a complete withdrawal from reality. We found him hiding in the bathroom this morning, and it took over an hour to convince him to come out. He's withdrawn and...did he stammer before?"

Dan sighed. "Not when we last saw him, but it's been...what, two years, Maria?"

"A year and a half since we saw them last. I suppose he could have developed it since then, although they certainly never mentioned it. Not once."

"It may be a reaction to the...trauma. It was your brother?"

Dan nodded and took a quick breath. Maria put a comforting arm around his waist.

"My twin brother. Levi and I...we were as close as twins usually are. It wasn't until I joined the Navy that we drifted. All the family is back west, but Levi and Nora came out here about five years ago. We just didn't see each other as much. Tim should remember us, but..."

"Don't worry about that. Remember that you're all family."

Dan nodded and ran a hand over his military buzz. "We...We should be Tim's legal guardians...unless they changed something and forgot to mention it. Nora's family has always been a little flaky and..." He laughed self-consciously. "Sorry. I just can't believe it. Levi and Nora... Why?"

Dr. Bartschi shook her head. "I can't tell you that. All I can tell you is that there's a little boy in there who needs a _lot_ of love, a lot of care...and a lot of patience from you...and your family. He's not going to be easy to deal with, not at first and maybe not for a long time. Sometimes, kids can bounce back. Sometimes, it takes a long time."

"Right. Okay."

"He's just in there. He's awake. He knows his parents are dead; so you don't have to pretend."

Dan and Maria both nodded and opened the door to see their nephew.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Tim opened his eyes with a quick inhalation. In his dreams, he found it hard to remember that Uncle Dan was _not_ his father. There was only one, an amalgam of Dan and Levi McGee. In his dreams, sometimes both of them were dead together, sometimes, neither of them. Regardless... He hated when he dreamed of them. The dreams weren't nightmares but they still weren't pleasant.

Quickly, Tim walked to his writing desk and pulled out a piece of paper. He had to do this whenever his dreams became even slightly troublesome. If he didn't, things had a tendency to escalate. He grabbed a pen and started to sketch, trying as he always did to draw his parents how he actually remembered them. He was no artist, but he could always get this right...if he wanted to draw a crime scene, that is.

His phone rang as he was drawing. He had to finish once he started; so he answered and then cushioned the phone between his ear and his shoulder.

"McGee," he said, still drawing. He could see his mother's face clearly in his mind...but he knew that she wouldn't come out that way on paper. She'd be basically faceless.

"_Good morning, Probie. Guess what."_

"A case? Already?"

"_Got it in one. El Jefe wants us at NCIS, pronto post haste. There's been a double murder out at Quantico needing our special touch."_

"Right. Fine. I'll be there." Now, his dad. With Uncle Dan still alive, it still surprised him that he couldn't draw his father correctly. Only lying on the floor, a gaping hole in his throat.

"_Yo, McGee, am I interrupting something important?"_

"I've only been awake for five minutes, Tony. How could you be interrupting anything important?"

"_That's not an answer, Probie. You got a girl there?"_

"Nope. Just getting ready for the day." Tim was glad that he could just use a black pen and not need to fill in any colors. That would get a lot more disturbing. The reddish black of congealing blood and the white of the...

"_McGee! Earth to McGee!"_

"What?"

"_Are you sure you're awake, Probie? You're not paying attention to vital information."_

"Maybe not. What did you say?"

"_I said that I'm leaving right now. I'll call Ziva on my way because no matter who gets called last, Ziva will be the first there with how crazy she drives."_

Tim laughed and began to fill in the empty space where his father's throat should be with heavy black strokes.

"_Are you leaving yet, McGee?"_

"Just about. Need to get my clothes on. If you'd stop gabbing, I could be out the door. Jethro can take care of himself."

"_Probie, your life or lack thereof makes me weep for you."_

"Whatever, Tony. Bye." Tim hung up and focused on finishing his drawing. It took less than a minute and then he was staring at yet another drawing of his parents. Dead. He sighed. It wasn't as though he didn't have photos of them...but still... Why couldn't he remember this scene consciously? Maybe if he could, his parents' murders wouldn't still be unsolved cold cases in the files of the Baltimore police department. He shoved the page into his bag and ran out the door.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Twenty-three years ago..._

Tim was awake. Sitting up on the bed, covers pulled up to his chin. He wasn't looking anywhere in particular, just staring, his hands holding tightly to the blankets.

"Hey, Tim..." Dan hadn't seen him in while, and it was amazing how much kids changed at this age.

Tim shook his head. "I didn't hear anything."

"That's all right. Do you remember us? Uncle Dan and Aunt Maria?"

A nod. Nothing more.

Maria walked over to the bed. "I'm really sorry, Tim."

Another nod.

"Uri told me that M-Mommy and D-Daddy are dead. It's t-t-true?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't th-think he'd lie."

"Tim, how are you feeling?"

Tim lifted his eyes to Dan's face and there was a horrible flash of hope that Dan instantly understood.

"D-Dad?"

"No, Tim. It's your Uncle Dan. Remember? Your dad and I...we're twins."

The only thing worse than the hope was seeing it completely and utterly dashed by reality. The eyes dropped back to the bed. Maria sat down beside him and put her arms around him.

"I'm so sorry that we couldn't be here sooner, Tim."

Dan sat down on the other side of the bed. The silence was horrible because Tim didn't cry but he had a white-knuckle grip on the blankets.

"Tim, do you remember what I do?"

"N-Navy."

"That's right. We're based in California right now. You and your parents came out to see us during the Olympics."

A brief smile. "W-We s-saw the jetpack d-demo."

"That's right," Dan said. "Well, I'm still out there. Maria and I would like you to come out and live with us, if you want to."

"Y-You want me? You w-want me to...to l-live with you?"

"Yes," Maria said quickly. "Yes, we'd love that. You're only two years younger than our oldest boy, Danny."

"You have kids." It wasn't really a question and Tim had met his cousins before, but they were willing to remind him...anything to get that desolate look out of his eyes, anything to get him to relax a little bit.

"Yes. Danny is twelve. Richard is seven and Sarah isn't quite two yet."

"And...And I-I-I c-c-could come w-with you?"

"Yes. We'd love it."

"T-To l-l-live?"

"Yes."

"F-Forever?"

"Yes."

"Wh-When?"

Dan patted Tim's knee. "It might be a couple of days yet. The police want to talk to us. They may want to talk to you, but we'll be with you and we won't leave without you."

"I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything!" Tim lifted his head and stared straight into Dan's eyes. "Daddy, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have left the bathroom! I should have stayed there! I'm sorry! I didn't hear anything! I didn't!" Now, there were tears. "I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything!"

Dan felt tears in his own eyes and he pulled Tim to him in a tight hug. He couldn't bear to reiterate the truth. He couldn't do it.

"It's okay. It's okay, Tim," he said, his voice breaking. "Don't worry. I'm glad you left. You were right to go. That's..." Dan looked at Maria and shook his head helplessly. "That's what I wanted you to do."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really."

"Will you t-tell me a story, Daddy?"

Dan took a deep breath. "Yes, Tim. I'll tell you a story. You just lay down on the bed and close your eyes. I'll tell you a great story...one that your dad and I always liked. We even memorized it."

Tim lay down obediently and closed his eyes...but one of his hands began searching for Dan. Dan took his hand and squeezed it.

"It's called _Mickey and the Beanstalk._"

Tim laughed. "I l-like that one. D-Do all the v-v-voices."

"I'll do every single one." Maria cupped her own hand on Dan's cheek and wiped away the tears. "'Once upon a time, long, long ago, there was a land called Happy Valley..."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Tim parked his car and saw that both Tony and Ziva were already there. He smiled. He'd probably get a head slap for his tardiness, but that was tolerable.

Just another day at work. Tim liked sticking to the routines. Even when something unexpected came up, there was still a routine to follow. It was comforting. So...even with the early call in to work, even with the disturbing dreams...he had a routine that broke through the things that could cause trouble and find something normal in it.

Normalcy to stave off the insanity of life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Twenty-two years ago..._

"Mom!"

There was something in Richard's tone that told Maria exactly what was coming. She took a breath and turned away from her garden. "What is it, Richard?"

"Tim's hiding in the laundry hamper again! He won't come out...and I need to go to the bathroom!"

Maria sighed. "Just use the other one, Richard."

"I'm tired of using the other one! That's _yours _and _Dad's_ bathroom! This one is supposed to be all of ours! Not just Tim's!" Richard folded his arms and looked very cross. "He's not even my real brother! He shouldn't be able to get everything he wants."

"Richard! He _is _your brother, but I'll go and get him out. Can you hold it?"

"Yes," Richard said sullenly. "For a while."

Even while she felt some measure of frustration, Maria also had to stifle a smile at Richard's declaration. One year on and still Tim was having real struggles. She wiped the dirt off her hands and went into the house...and into the bathroom.

Tim wasn't actually _in_ the hamper. He could fit, but it was a struggle since he'd grown a couple of inches during the last year...even if his weight stayed stubbornly low. He just showed absolutely no interest in anything but being around his adoptive parents. ...and around Sarah who now doted on him. He tried to help with everything, did any chores that weren't immediately being done by someone else. She'd had to sit down with him and explain that some chores needed to be done by Danny and Richard, and when Sarah got old enough, she'd have chores, too. It had helped somewhat, but still Tim had disturbing habits...like hiding in the laundry hamper in the kids' bathroom.

"Tim, you need to come out."

No answer.

"Please, Tim? Would you come out here?"

Nothing. Maria sighed. Richard and Danny already showed some jealousy about how much time Tim took from their parents. She didn't want to exacerbate the problem.

"Tim...it would really help me if you could come out of there."

As she thought, Tim moved and crawled out of the small space where the laundry hamper was stored. Why he went in there, no one knew exactly. He still said nothing about what had happened. His therapy sessions in which there was an attempt to get him to remember usually led to very difficult nights.

Tim crawled out, not looking bothered...not showing anything that was going on in his head.

"Why don't you go and draw a picture, Tim? It's your parents' anniversary today. You could draw a picture of them."

Tim nodded mutely and walked out of the bathroom. After he was gone, Maria sighed and closed her eyes for a few seconds. She loved Tim, really she did, but raising him was..._hard_.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

The two bodies were lying, entwined in each other's arms. Tim stared, strangely unsettled. He couldn't figure out why. Still, he pushed away the feeling.

"Something wrong, Timothy?"

Tim shook his head. "No..."

"You sound uncertain. Do you remember seeing something like this before?"

"No. I don't. I'm not sure what it is." He shook his head again, more firmly. "No, just disturbing, I guess."

The bodies lay in the doorway to the bathroom. Gibbs came in from talking to the manager of the town home. He took in the scene in seconds.

"McGee, you start in the bathroom. Ziva, bedroom. Tony..."

"Yeah, yeah. I get the bodies," Tony said.

Tim carefully stepped over the bodies and into the bathroom. It wasn't monstrous by any means, but it was large enough. If he stood at one end of the rectangular room, Tim could see only the heads of the two bodies.

He listened with half an ear as the others investigated in their respective locations.

"I do believe this unfortunate pair did not die like this, but were instead, posed after death. Preliminary cause of death is gunshot wound to the chest on both."

"No blood spatter in here," Tim reported as he photographed and dusted for prints.

Ziva lifted a rug. "We have blood here, Gibbs. This must have been where they fell."

"Look at their hair. Weird," Tony said as he took photos of the bodies.

"What?"

"Dyed," Tim said. "Recently, too. Huh. That is weird. Both of them, it looks like."

Tim felt the room go a bit fuzzy for a moment but he shook off the feeling quickly. No one noticed.

"Whoever did it could have shot them from in the bathroom," Tim suggested. He walked back to the window over the toilet. "This is large enough for someone to get in." He dusted for prints. "No prints here, though."

"He could have just hid out in there, Probie," Tony said. "Why pose them, though?"

"A personal touch," Ducky said. "This murder meant something."

"Maybe he was in the bathtub," Tim said softly.

"What was that, McGee?" Ziva asked.

"He could have been in the bathtub. He would have been hidden from direct view. Could have got them right away."

"Oh, look at what we have here," Ducky said. "A gun between them."

"How romantic," Tony said. "Hey, Ziva, is that your dream? To lie entwined with only a gun between you and your–?"

_Thwack!_

"Murder, suicide, Duck?"

"Possible, but I won't know what we get them home."

"Are we going to separate them, Doctor?" Jimmy asked.

"You have the tarp ready, Mr. Palmer?"

"Yes, sir."

Ducky looked at Tony. "Are you finished, Anthony?"

"Yep. Go ahead, Ducky."

Tim stared at the dead bodies. Part of him knew why these bodies seemed familiar to him, but he couldn't quite get his mind onto the idea.

_My parents,_ he said to himself, knowing that was really the only answer it could be, and tried as hard as he could to bring up the image he always drew. Nothing. He had drawn it only a few hours ago. Why was it so impossible to remember what he had drawn so many times? Why couldn't he bring it to mind when he could draw it without a single error? It seemed like he had permanent memory loss when it came to something he'd seen with his own eyes. Probably for a long time. They had told him he'd been in the house alone for four days. He had seen them. He knew what they must have looked like...but still, he couldn't actually think of it. It was so frustrating.

"Timothy?"

Tim jumped at the hand shaking him slightly and looked around. Everyone was staring at him. Ducky actually looked concerned.

"Yeah?" Tim asked. "What?"

"Are you all right, lad?"

"Sure. Why?"

"You looked like someone was walking over your grave, McGee," Tony said.

"You would not answer us when we spoke to you," Ziva added. "Are you sure you feel all right?"

"I feel fine. I was just thinking is all. Just kind of disconnected, I guess."

"You sure, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah, Boss. It's nothing. I just zoned out is all." No one looked reassured and Tim cleared his throat. "I'll just finish up in here...if that's okay."

"Go ahead, McGee," Gibbs said. "Ziva, Tony. Go and check with the neighbors."

"Sure thing, Boss."

"Yes, Gibbs."

Tim turned away from the staring eyes and looked at the shower. Uri had told him about his time spent in the shower. He didn't remember it himself. His own memory went from coming home after school to being in the hospital...with an awareness that something really horrible had happened. He took the requisite photos and then pulled aside the opaque curtain.

"Ha," he said softly. There was a faint trace of a print in the shower. Vindicated.

He snapped more photos, and turned to get a measuring stick from his bag. Gibbs was right there. He jumped back in surprise.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"What's up, McGee?"

"Nothing. Really, Boss. I was just thinking...and I drifted off. I've done that plenty of times."

"You sure that's all?"

"Yeah." Tim jerked his head back toward the shower. "Got a footprint in the shower, Boss. Looks like that's where our guy might have been waiting. Could be something else, but it's a start."

Gibbs only nodded. Tim continued on his original course to his bag. He pulled out the measuring stick and went back into the bathroom. Gibbs left him alone, thankfully.

He quickly finished up in the bathroom and then went back out. He heard Gibbs and Ducky conferring in the main room. As he started to put the camera and measuring stick back into his bag, he noticed a crumpled piece of paper on the floor. Flushing, he picked it up and quickly stuffed it into his pocket. He knew what it was.

Then, he headed out of the bedroom.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Twenty-two years ago..._

After Tim had been with the McGees for a few months, he began to display another disturbing habit. Maria and Dan would often wake up in the morning to find Tim sleeping on the floor, not by the bed, just in the middle of the floor, curled up on his side, arms tucked tightly around his torso. They tried to train him out of it, with the help of his therapist and by the time he'd been there for six months, he mostly spent the night in his own bed. ...sometimes, he would sneak into Sarah's room and spend the night watching over her, falling asleep only near dawn.

Then...

"Why? I don't understand!" Tim shouted, holding up the picture he'd drawn. Maria only barely kept herself from recoiling. "What is this?"

"What do you mean, Tim?"

"I drew it! ...but it's not what I wanted to draw! I was trying to draw Mom and Dad! Why did I draw this?" His voice was getting higher, the more he talked.

Thankfully, Dan heard Tim's voice and came into his room.

"What's going on, Tim?" he asked, keeping his voice soft. It often helped Tim calm down if his own voice reflected only calm.

"I drew this! I drew it, but I don't know what it is! You told me to draw Mom and Dad! I tried! I did! ...but..."

Dan held out his hand. "Let me see it, Tim." He looked at the picture and he knew what it was from how the police in Baltimore had described the crime scene to him. Tim had drawn Levi and Nora...dead...and not known he'd done it.

"Why? Why? Why?"

"Tim, it's okay."

"No!" Tim shook his head and began pulling crumpled pieces of paper from the garbage can. "I keep trying! I can't draw anything but this! It's not okay!"

It took a while, but they managed to calm Tim down...but that was only temporary. The next morning, Tim was sleeping in the bathtub in their bathroom.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

"Well, Duck?" Gibbs asked.

Ducky smiled at the terse request.

"As usual, I'm not quite finished yet, Jethro, but I can tell you my preliminary cause of death is correct. Both were killed by a gunshot to the chest. Their hearts were perforated and they bled out in seconds. I sent blood samples up to Abigail, but I haven't found any sign of toxins in their blood stream."

"Murder-suicide or double homicide?"

"That's not my department, Jethro," Ducky said but went on anyway. "Abigail has their clothes and she'll be her usual thorough self. However, I would call it a double homicide, not a suicide."

"Restraints?"

"Some sign of wrist abrasions on our Marine, but I haven't yet finished his young wife. I'll let you know what I discover."

"Thanks." Gibbs didn't leave.

"Was there something else, Jethro?"

"Have you talked with McGee much lately?"

"Not really," Ducky said, furrowing his brow. "Is this about his momentary lack of response this afternoon?"

"No."

"Then, what is it?"

"A piece of paper fell out of his bag today at the scene. I looked at it while he was in the bathroom. It was of two bodies on the floor. Not very detailed, but the way it was drawn...they were both dead, shot."

"Like this case?"

"No. They were side by side. If I saw it right, one was shot in the face and one in the throat."

"You think Timothy drew it?"

"Yeah."

"Did you ask him about it?"

"No. I just put it back on the floor and left it there. McGee's never said anything to you?"

Ducky shook his head. "No, I can't say that he's mentioned it. No cold cases answering that description?"

"Not that I know of."

"You might try looking there first...or you could simply try _asking_ Timothy about it."

Gibbs gave a smile. "If he wanted us to know, I'm sure he would have mentioned it."

"More than likely. I guess you'll have to decide if you want to know more than he wants to hide it."

"Yeah. That's the question, isn't it."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Twenty-two years ago..._

Buying a computer for Tim seemed like an overindulgence, and if either Danny or Richard had actually been interested, there would surely have been outright fights over that. However, it was a desperate attempt to get Tim to do _something_. His work at school was adequate, as it had been before, but Tim showed no real interest in _anything_ besides his adoptive parents and younger sister.

So on his birthday, they surprised him with a Mac SE. It was used so that they could afford it, but it worked well. ...and when Tim opened it, there was a flash of interest in his eyes as he looked it over.

"A computer? For me?"

"Do you like it?"

"I..." Tim was forced into honesty, not being able to think of anything diplomatic. "I don't know. What can I do with it?"

"You can do your school assignments on it," Dan said with a falsely hearty grin. Richard and Danny both laughed. Tim looked at them and then at Dan. He laughed...almost hesitantly.

"I've also heard that there are games you can play on these things. I have a friend who's into programming, though, and...well, this is the other part of your present."

"Other part?"

Dan handed Tim a book on Basic programming. Again, the momentary interest as he opened it up and began flipping through it. For the first time since Tim had come home with them, he looked like a little boy who had received a present full of possibilities.

"Neat," he said softly. Then, he looked at Danny and Richard. "You can use it, too."

"Cake?" Sarah asked...completely disinterested in the computer sitting on the table.

...and for just a moment, it was like a normal family. Everyone laughed and left the computer on the table to eat birthday cake.

It was a wonderful moment...but one that didn't last. Maybe it couldn't have in any case, but for Tim, just as he was slowly coming out of the shadow of his parents' murders, just as he was taking his first tentative steps out into the real world...

...he was plunged back into the nightmare.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Tim had a free moment near the end of the day and he checked his voice mail.

"_Tim, it's Uri. Give me a call as soon as you can. You're going to want to know about this."_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Twenty-two years ago..._

"Are you out of your mind?" Uriah asked, looking at the others in the room. "Why? Why now?"

"It's been a year, Uriah. The only reason we didn't do anything about this before was because you were so adamant that it was impossible."

"I'm _still_ adamant. This is a bad idea and won't help anything."

"Uri, we have no other leads."

"This isn't a lead. This is a desperate attempt to make it appear that we're doing something. ...and all it's going to do is cause more pain to a little kid who doesn't need more pain."

"Maybe you've lost your objectivity in this case."

"Objectivity?" Uriah repeated. "We're not objective. That's not what we're supposed to be. We're supposed to follow the clues to the solution, but that doesn't mean probing where we don't need to probe."

"Why don't you listen to our reasons? We'll give you a chance to respond."

"I've already done this once before. You don't need to drag this kid back across the country to confront something he really can't."

"Can't? Come on, Uriah. It's been over a year."

"Yeah...and he's still hiding in laundry hampers, sleeping on the floor of his aunt and uncle's bedroom and guarding their daughter through the night to keep her safe. A year might be enough for _you_ to get over the murder of _your_ parents, Corman, but for this kid, it's not long enough."

"That's low, Jones."

"And it's beside the point," Dinah Graham, the head of the detective division, said, interrupting for the first time. "Corman, make your case for bringing Timothy McGee out here for questioning. ...and let him speak, Uri."

Uriah grumbled but nodded.

Detective Corman glared at Uriah and then began. "We've never been able to get any indication of something missing from the house. Granted, Timothy McGee isn't likely to know exactly what his parents might have that's valuable. Still, it looks like it could have been an interrupted burglary. There are a lot of ways this could have gone. If Timothy is a good actor, he could have intentionally made it look that way."

Uriah made a rude noise.

"I don't believe that's the case, if it makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't."

"Uri," Dinah warned. "Get on with it, Gary."

"So Levi and Nora hear the break-in and worry. We found their cut phone lines. No calling for help. They send Tim into the bathroom for safety. Maybe he's too scared to wait and comes out. He gets one of his dad's guns and goes back into the bathroom. He hears something and panics. ...he shoots twice and hits his parents, killing them. He's traumatized and retreats back to the bathroom where he waits until we get there. Maybe he really doesn't remember. Maybe he's pretending because he doesn't want to get in trouble and he feels guilty. Either way, he is the accidental murderer and it explains everything we've seen."

"Including the fact that his parents were moved after they were shot, that they were dressed in clothes no one recognized as belonging to them, that there's no sign of blood anywhere on Tim or in the bathroom?" Uriah shot back.

"He had four days in that house, Jones. Just because no one recognized the clothes doesn't mean they didn't buy them. He could have showered a hundred times during that time for all we know."

"Actually, the water bill says differently," Uriah said with a smile.

Corman rolled his eyes. "The point is, Jones, that both of our scenarios explains the evidence and we have not yet taken steps to invalidate one or the other."

Uriah started to argue again, but Dinah stopped him.

"No, Uriah, Gary is right. I don't like it, but this case hasn't gone away and we need to get rid of any suspicion that might fall on Timothy McGee. You can call and tell them about it, but emphasize that while we're asking them to come voluntarily, we'll make it official if we have to."

"Fine...but you're not going to drag him here and force him through some sort of police interrogation...even if you're nice to him."

"What do you think I'm going to do, Uriah," Corman retorted, "accuse him of murder?"

"Yes. That's _exactly_ what I think you'll do. We have psychiatrists on retainer to the department who know how to deal with kids. Get one of them to do it. That way you'll cause as little damage as is possible."

"What makes you think we'll cause _any_ damage?"

"Because I looked in that boy's eyes and saw something worse than any soldier or veteran ever had...and if you start saying that maybe he killed his own parents, he's going to fall, and I don't want to see that happen."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

There were four other messages. One was a reminder of his car needing an oil change. Another was a reminder that he was eligible to donate blood again. Then...

"_Hey, Tim. It's Danny. Some weird guy called me wanting to know if I'd tell him anything about you. I told him to buzz off. I would have said worse but Eugene was sitting on my lap at the time. The last thing I want is to start teaching my three-year-old how to swear. You know anything about this?"_

Starting to worry, Tim listened to the last message.

"_Tim, it's your Uncle Dad." _Tim smiled at the title. They had compromised on it after Tim had such a hard time remembering what to call him. _"We had a message on our machine from someone who is looking for you. I know you don't give out your information because of your job; so I haven't done anything with it. Give us a call and let us know. By the way, happy anniversary. I'm guessing I know what you did to celebrate. Love you."_

Tim gave a rueful smile, but now he was a bit worried. Who was calling his friends and family to find him? ...and why?

"McGee, what do you have on our couple?" Gibbs asked, striding into the room.

Tim noticed that he seemed to look at him a bit more intently than usual. He pushed aside the strange messages, vowing to get to the bottom of it tonight so that his family wasn't inconvenienced yet again by having him as a relative.

"Got married two years ago. Eloped to Vegas. Just moved to Quantico, decided to live off the base..."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Twenty-two years ago..._

Uriah didn't want to make this phone call, but he sighed and dialed.

"_Dan McGee."_

"Hello, Mr. McGee. This is Detective Uriah Jones from Baltimore."

"_Hello, Detective. Nice to hear from you."_ The greeting was genuine, but guarded. Uriah knew that Dan had picked up on the formal use of his title. _"What's up?"_

"We've reopened the case on the murder of your brother and his wife."

"_Reopened? Did you find something new?"_

"No. We want to talk to Tim about what happened."

"_Why now? It's been a year. I thought you'd given up on finding out who did it. Do you really think that he can tell you anything new? His therapist is still trying to break through the blocks he's put around his memory of what happened. She hasn't succeeded yet. You'd know if she did."_

"I believe you, Mr. McGee, but we do need to talk to Tim and would appreciate it if you could bring him out here."

"_Is this really necessary? Do you know that Tim has finally managed to go two nights in a row without sleeping somewhere other than his own bed? He's starting to make some real progress. I don't want to ruin that."_

Uriah dropped his professional tone. "Listen, I know, and I wish this wasn't necessary, but I've been asked to inform you that we'll make this official if we need to. ...and Tim doesn't need that on his record, even as a minor. We'll have a psychiatrist on hand to ask the questions."

"_Detective Jones, be honest with me. Do you think this will do any good?"_

Uriah sighed. "No, but I can't get them to change their minds."

"_Okay. We'll come. I have some leave available. It would probably be better for me to go than Maria...and we can't leave our kids with friends again. Danny and Richard are iffy enough about accepting Tim as it is. I don't like this, Detective Jones. I don't like this at all."_

"Neither do I. I'm sorry."

"_When do we need to be there? I don't want Tim to have to miss school. He's actually starting to pay attention again."_

"As soon as possible. Just let us know when you're going to arrive."

"_I will. Good-bye."_

The click in his ear only served to drive home how much damage was probably going to be done by this pointless questioning.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Tim set the search running and started doodling absently on a scrap of paper. He really wanted to leave so that he could get in touch with Uri and find out what was going on, but with a case going on, he knew he couldn't plan on an early departure.

"Hey, McGee, you been watching horror movies?"

Tim looked up at Tony as he hovered over the desk, looking at the paper with interest. Tim looked at it as well.

_That's new,_ he thought and stared with equal interest at the hovering menace, towering over a small shuddering figure.

"No, I haven't been watching horror movies, Tony," Tim said and deliberately crumpled the paper into a small ball and then dropped it in the trash.

"Then, what was that?"

Tim hesitated and then deliberately lied. It was the first time he could think of when he had outright lied about something connected to his past. Half-truths were his usual stock and trade, but this...

"Thinking about starting another novel."

"A horror story?"

"No, just suspense, mystery. Stuff like that." He looked back at his monitor. "Ah, I've got their phone records."

"Hey, McGee."

"Yeah?" Tim asked, only half-listening as he started to search through the records he'd just received.

"What happened today at the crime scene?"

"I told you what happened. I just zoned out. You've seen me do that often enough it shouldn't be a surprise."

"Yeah, but I've seen you do that at a computer. You were staring at the bodies. You looked a bit wigged out."

"Did I?"

"Yeah, you did."

"I didn't _feel_ wigged out, Tony. I promise. I was just thinking and let myself disconnect from reality." Tim smiled up at Tony. "Why are you so worried? You suddenly going to start mothering me?"

As he hoped, that made Tony back off.

"Not likely, McDreamer. You can get back to your interesting searches there."

"Thanks." Tim smiled and returned to his work...with one eye on the clock. Uri usually went to bed pretty early. He was pushing eighty currently. Tim didn't want to bother him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Twenty-two years ago..._

"Hello, Mr. McGee. Hello, Tim. I'm Dr. Natalie Oppermeyer. I'll be talking with you in here, Tim. If you and your daughter wouldn't mind waiting out here?" She asked, but everyone present knew there was no other option. "There will be a representative from Child and Family Services with him at all times. If you want to take your daughter to the play room, it's just down the hall there. We'll come and get you should the need arise."

"Thanks."

Tim looked at Uriah who had brought them here.

"Hi, Uri," he said softly. He was afraid. It was obvious in every move he made.

"Nice to see you again, Tim. You're looking pretty good."

"Thanks. We went and saw Mom and Dad's graves. They...are...nice."

"I'll be right out here, if you want to talk to me after."

"Okay."

"Don't worry, Tim. Dr. Oppermeyer is very nice."

"Okay." Tim walked with her into the room and sat down on the chair she indicated.

"All right, Tim. We're just going to ask a few questions. You answer them as best you can and then we'll be done. All right?"

"Sure. Okay."

"Good. I want to ask you a few questions about what happened on the day your parents died. Is that all right?"

"I don't remember what happened."

"I know. What about when you got home from school? Do you remember that?"

"Yeah."

"Was your mom home?"

"Yeah. She was."

"Your dad?"

"No. He was still working. He's a teacher. He's really smart. He teaches at a private school...math."

"Okay. So what happened when you got home?"

"I asked Mom if I could go over to Rob's house to play and maybe sleep over. She said no."

"Why?"

"Because I hadn't done my homework." Tim looked down at his hands. "It wasn't that I didn't know how to do it. It was easy. I just thought it was boring."

"That's all right. Most of us have done that, Tim."

"Really? Even you?"

Dr. Oppermeyer laughed. "Of course. Even me. Were you mad?"

Tim shrugged. "Not really. Mom had warned me. I only asked to see if she maybe forgot. She didn't. She said I had to do my homework and maybe if I caught up, I could sleep over next week."

"So what did you do?"

"I went into the study to do my homework."

"The study is where your dad kept his guns?"

"Yeah. He has a display cabinet. He really likes them. He has lots. Handguns, revolvers, pistols, rifles, shotguns."

"Did you ever play with them?"

Tim shook his head firmly. "No! That's against the rules. Dad sat me down and told me what the rules about the guns were. You never play with a gun, even if it's not loaded. Guns aren't toys...unless they're plastic and shoot water. He showed me how to hold them and how to check the safety and how to see if it was loaded."

"Did he ever keep the guns loaded?"

"No. Never. He had bullets, but not with the guns. They were upstairs in their bedroom."

"You knew where the bullets were?"

"Yeah. I found them. Dad told me that he had better not ever see me playing with them, and that if I told my friends I'd be in big trouble. I kept his secret."

"I'm sure you did. When did your dad get home?"

"Same time as he always does. Four thirty. He came in and looked over my homework to see how I was doing. Then, he went and helped Mom make dinner. Like always. Always..."

"How much more do you remember after that, Tim?"

"I went to bed."

"And then?"

"Then, I was in the hospital."

"Nothing else?"

"No!" Tim began to feel worried, nervous. Afraid. "No, I don't remember."

"Tim, do you remember anything...about how you felt?"

"What do you mean?"

The advocate stepped in. "He's already told you he doesn't remember anything else."

"Sometimes, Tim," Dr. Oppermeyer said, including both of them in her explanation. "Sometimes, you can't remember things that you see or hear or touch, but you remember a feeling. When you woke up in the hospital, did you know that your parents were dead?"

"Sort of."

"You remembered something then. Even if it wasn't something you saw. You remembered a feeling."

"Okay."

"Can you think of any other feelings you might have had?"

"Like what?"

"Do you remember the feeling of holding the gun?"

"I shot at Uri. I shouldn't have done that."

"You were afraid. You didn't know who they were. Have you ever done that before, Tim?"

"Done what?"

"Been afraid of something only to find out that it wasn't something scary at all? Something...or someone?"

"No...not really."

"Never heard a creak of the house and been afraid?"

"Sure...but I was really young."

"Do you remember feeling that way during the time you were in the house?"

"No."

Dr. Oppermeyer's voice was calm and soothing. She didn't rush, but Tim started feeling really tense and afraid. He didn't feel safe anymore. He didn't want to answer any more questions.

"Tim, did you see your parents while you were hiding in the bathroom?"

Suddenly, Tim couldn't even say how he understood it, but he knew exactly what she was trying to ask him without asking him...and his mind seemed to catch on fire. He could see shadows hovering around. Blood. Lots of blood. He started screaming.

"I didn't kill them! I didn't kill them!"

He jumped up from the chair and started searching for somewhere safe to hide. He had to get away, had to be safe. He shouldn't have left the bathroom. Daddy had told him to stay in the bathroom. He should have stayed there. Shouldn't have left. There was no place to hide. There was a table. He pulled away, still screaming that he hadn't killed his parents and crawled underneath the table. He began to rock, banging his head against the table leg. He remembered the most important thing.

"I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything!" He kept screaming, trying to keep them away until he heard the only voice that mattered.

"Tim. Tim, it's me. Uncle Dan. It's all right. Come on out."

Tim banged his head against the top of the table in his rush to get out from under the table and into his uncle's arms.

"I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything!"

"Sh. It's okay."

Strong arms around him began to gently rock him.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Tim. You're fine. It's okay."

"I wasn't supposed to leave, Daddy. I wasn't supposed to leave."

"It's okay, Tim. I'm glad you left. It was the right thing to do."

It took over an hour to calm Tim down enough to get him out of his nightmare and into the real world again. Dan was furious and told the police that he didn't care if they had anything else they wanted. Levi and Nora would never want this to happen to their son. They would have to get a court order if they _ever_ wanted to speak to Tim again. Tim spent their last night in Baltimore sleeping in the bathtub. He wouldn't even get into the bed.

When they got back to San Diego, Tim withdrew again. This time, he withdrew to the computer...and the reams of paper he used up drawing the same picture over and over again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

"Hey, McGee," Gibbs said.

Tim paused in his eager trek to the elevator. They had finally been released and he wanted to call Uri. It wasn't too late yet.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"If there's something wrong, you can tell me, you know."

Tim furrowed his brow in confusion. "I know, Boss."

"I mean that."

"Okay. There's nothing wrong. See you tomorrow."

"Good night, McGee."

Tim walked out of NCIS, dialing Uri's number as soon as he was out of the building.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_Twenty-one years ago..._

The only positive facet of Tim's new withdrawal was that he channeled a lot of his time into his schoolwork. Instead of studying only reluctantly, it became all he did. He was either on his computer, learning how to program, or else he was studying. His grades soared and what few social improvements he'd made vanished completely. His participation grades were horrible, but his academic performance was so good that it was like he was a different person. All the potential was suddenly being realized.

...and yet, Maria and Dan would have traded this new-found excellence for a single smile on Tim's face. His therapist was shocked at how quickly he lost all the gains he'd made in the last year. By the time Tim had been with the McGees for two years, he seemed no different from how he'd been on day one.

They had tried locking their bedroom door but had quickly learned that was a bad idea. Tim freaked out at the closed door, pounding on it and screaming, waking the whole house. Instead, they just tried the same methods as they had before. They talked with him, explained the need for him to stay in his own room, in his own bed.

Then, one morning, Dan got up for his usual morning run and discovered a note on the floor by the door their bedroom. He picked it up and then walked quickly to Tim's bedroom. It was empty. He debated searching for Tim immediately or doing what the note said. He walked over to Tim's computer and sat down. He typed in the file name Tim had written.

_What is your name?_

He typed in his name.

_Dan, do you like Tim? Y or N_

Y

_Dan, do you understand Tim? Y or N_

Y

_Dan, what is wrong with Tim? Pick one:_

_1. Tim is crazy.  
__2. Tim is a murderer.  
__3. Tim is afraid.  
__4. I don't really know. I just wish I did._

Dan almost started to cry at the question and Tim's way of asking it.

4

_Dan, do you understand Tim? Y or N_

N

_Dan, what can be done? Tim needs help._

There were no options given, just a blinking cursor, begging for an answer.

_We will just keep trying_.

_Dan, do you like stars? Y or N_

Y

_Dan, how many stars do you want?_

Now, Dan was confused, but he typed in a number.

_40_

_Here are 40 stars._

Forty asterisks appeared on the screen.

_Dan, do you know where Tim is right now? Y or N_

_N_

_Dan, do you want to know where Tim is? Y or N_

_Y_

_Dan, why do you want to know where Tim is?_

_Because I love him and I'm worried._

_Dan, is "Because I love him and I'm worried" the real answer? Y or N_

_Y_

_Dan, does this mean that you love Tim? Y or N_

_Y_

_Dan, Tim loves you, too. Did you know that? Y or N_

_Y_

_Dan, Tim wants to be normal. He knows he is not normal. He does not know how to be. He cannot understand how to be normal. He is afraid. You may ask a question. Pick one:_

_1. Why is Tim afraid?  
__2. What is wrong with Tim?  
__3. Where is Tim right now?  
__4. Is Tim a murderer?_

_3_

_Dan, do you really want to know where Tim is? Y or N_

_Y_

_Dan, Tim is running away. He took 40 dollars from your wallet. Do you still love Tim? Y or N_

_Y_

_Dan, are you mad at Tim? Y or N_

_N_

_Dan, not even a little bit? Y or N_

_N_

_Dan, do you still want to know where Tim is? Y or N_

_Y_

_Dan, Tim is going to the bus station, but he does not really want to go. He is not running very fast. Ha ha. Did that make you smile? Y or N_

Tears rolled down Dan's cheek but he did smile.

_Y_

_Dan, Tim loves you. Are you going to bring him back home? Y or N_

_Y_

_Dan, do you want some more stars? Y or N_

_N_

_Why not?_

_Because I'm going to get Tim back._

Dan pushed _Enter_ and then woke up Maria, told her what was going on and ran out of the house, toward the nearest bus stop. He found Tim, sitting on a bench, his backpack by his feet, face downcast, legs bouncing against the edge of the bench.

"Tim?"

Tim's shoulders hunched.

"I'm not mad at you."

"Y-You can h-have the money b-back."

"That's good, but that's not why I came."

Dan sat down by Tim.

"Tim, why are you running away?"

The first tears Dan had ever seen welled up in Tim's eyes and dripped onto his pants.

"I-I'm n-n-not n-normal."

"I know. You can be."

"I... I f-f-forget who you are."

Dan put his arm around Tim's shoulders. "I know you do. That's okay, too. Levi and I are identical twins. Our mother couldn't tell us apart."

Tim let out a tear-filled chuckle.

"I don't remember."

"I believe you, Tim. ...and you know what?"

"Wh-What?"

"That's also okay."

"Wh-What if...I..."

"You didn't. You didn't kill your parents, not by accident, not on purpose. You didn't, Tim. You're not a murderer."

"B-B-But h-how can you know?"

"Because I know you and I know my brother. Tim, as far as I'm concerned, you're my son. No, it's not the same as it was with Levi because he will always be your dad, but in my mind, I'm as close to being your dad as is possible."

Tim leaned against him.

"I want you to come back home, Tim. Will you?"

Tim sniffed.

"Hey, come on. I went through that whole program you wrote to find you and bring you back. We want you back home."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really."

"Even if I'm...c-c-crazy?"

"You're not crazy. You're hurting, and that will get better in time. Come on, Tim. Let's go home."

Dan stood up and held out his hand. Tim looked at it and then up at him. He picked up his bag and let Dan pull him up. They walked back home together.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Tim saw Tony and Ziva by his car and he sighed inwardly. If he couldn't get away from them quickly, he'd miss the chance to talk to Uri tonight.

"McGee, are you sure you are feeling all right?" Ziva asked, never one to beat around the bush...provided she could remember the correct idiom.

Tim smiled. "I'm fine, but you guys, if you want to fuss and worry, could you wait and do it tomorrow? I have some calls I need to return and at least one of them is to someone who goes to bed fairly early. I don't have time right now. Okay?"

"You're all right with that?" Tony asked.

"Guys, I'm fine. I just spaced out for a few seconds this afternoon. I don't know why you're making such a big deal out of it. I'm not sick. I'm not losing my mind. I'm not any more disturbed than anyone would be at seeing two people gunned down in their own home. Okay? Now, I really need to go and make some calls. Can I go?"

"All right," Tony said and stood aside. Ziva hesitated a moment longer and then also moved away from Tim's car.

"Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow, and...thanks for being concerned. I'm fine."

Tim didn't wait to see how they reacted. He got in his car and drove away. As he did, he pushed send and listened to the phone ring and hoped that Uri was still awake.

"_Hello, Jones residence."_

"Hey, Uri. It's Tim. I got your message."

"_I figured you were probably still working when I called. You driving?"_

"Yeah."

"_Well, either pull over or else let's talk about something else until you get home. You're going to want to be able to focus only on what I'm going to tell you."_

"Does this have anything to do with someone calling my family today?"

"_Wait, Tim. Show a little patience."_

Tim smiled at the injunction. "Okay. How have things been? I haven't talked to you for a while."

"_We've been visiting the grandkids. I tell you, Tim, I don't feel old enough to have grandkids. ...except when I walk. Then, I feel over a hundred. Too many years running around on my bad knees."_

"How many grandkids do you have?"

"_Twelve at last count. Don't ask me to name them all. My children couldn't be bothered to pick real names. They just randomly combined letters of the alphabet and declared them to be appropriate names for their children."_

"They just want to give you something to complain about, Uri."

Uri grunted and then asked what Tim had been up to. They continued to chat until Tim got home. He took Jethro out and then fed him and sat down.

"Okay, Uri. Tell me."

"_We had a message on our machine when we got back. From some guy who said he wanted to talk to me and left his name and number. I called him back...and I wish I hadn't. I wish I'd just ignored it, but if he's calling your family, too, then we'll probably have to nip it in the bud in any case."_

"What did he want?"

"_He claims to be writing a book on unsolved murders on the East Coast and wants to include your parents' murders, says that he wants to talk to you about what happened and get your side of the story."_

"My side?"

"_Yeah, and I say that you don't speak with him, Tim. Ignore him and tell your family to do the same."_

Tim was surprised at Uri's vehemence.

"What's wrong with him writing a book? I don't particularly want to be a part of it, but–"

Uri laughed sadly. _"After everything you've been through, Tim, I can't believe that you would believe the best of someone like this. There's one thing that this guy is interested in, mark my words: money. I could hear it in his voice. He doesn't care about this book beyond the money it will make him, especially if he 'solves' an unsolvable case."_

"Uri, I'm going to _have_ to talk to him, at least once."

"_Why?"_

"To tell him to leave my friends and family alone," Tim said firmly. "If you're right, I'm not going to let them get pulled into this and be badgered by someone about something that happened over twenty years ago."

"_If he doesn't get any help, he'll move on to something else."_

"If I tell him point blank to buzz off, he'll move on, too."

"_Tim, you know that he's going to be calling everyone involved in the case. Gary Corman died a few years back, but most everyone else is alive. Some of them will want to be involved."_

"...but I don't and I've already had to see what people like that are willing to do for a story. I investigated a case once where one of these private detective types was willing to let an innocent man go to prison just to get a book deal. I don't want to see anything like that happen to my family. They've gone through enough for me."

There was a beep in his ear signaling another incoming call. He looked at his Caller ID. Sarah.

"Uri, Sarah's calling me...and I'll bet that means he's making the rounds of everyone. The only one he probably won't be able to get a hold of somehow is Richard because he's in Afghanistan. This has to stop now, not in a few weeks when he gets tired of trying. What's the number he left?"

"_Tim, you're making a big mistake. It's like telemarketers. If you talk to them, you get sucked into talking, buying things you don't want. If you ignore the ringing phone, they go away."_

"But not forever...and it's not me he's calling. It's you and Sarah and Danny and my aunt and uncle. If it was just me he was calling, I'd agree with you. What's the number? ...Uri, if you won't give it to me, I can always get it from one of the other three people he's called."

"_All right, all right. I'll tell you...but on one condition."_

"What's that, Uri?"

"_If you can't get him to leave you alone, or even if he makes you feel uncomfortable, you either shut it down or get someone to help you shut it down. I know you, Tim. You tend to withdraw when things get hard instead of dealing with them head-on. You can't do that with this thing. You have to be decisive no matter what the decision is. If you don't, this will start to rule your life again. Got it?"_

"It's a deal. What's the number?"

"_His name is Ellis Shands. The number he gave me is 201-555-5426. Remember."_

"I promise, Uri. If I get in over my head, I'll get someone to help."

"_Better to get help before you get in over your head. It's easier to rescue someone if they're not already drowning."_

"Right. Thanks, Uri."

"_Yeah, sure."_

"Bye."

"_Good night."_

Tim hung up and sat back. He didn't like this, didn't like that there was someone tracking him down, didn't like his past getting dredged up again. Nothing good had ever come of revisiting it. He had no doubt that this would be the same. He looked at the number he'd jotted down.

"Jethro...I don't know if I'm ready to do this."

Jethro barked at the sound of his name and then went back to his food.

"No. I'm not going to let some idiot with delusions of grandeur harass my family." With that in his mind, Tim dialed the number and listened to it ring.

"_This is Ellis Shands. How may I help you?"_

Tim took a deep breath. "My name is Timothy McGee. You've been looking for me. What do you want?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_Twenty years ago..._

Everything was pointing toward a coming conflict and the coalition forces began to gather, first with Operation: Desert Shield and then later with the war itself. Dan was sent along with one of the naval battle groups at the beginning of August. It was hard for all the McGees and the news was on almost constantly so that they could know if war actually broke out. Dan spoke to them as often as he could, but it wasn't nearly often enough. Thanksgiving passed. Christmas passed. Dan was still gone. Then, in January 1991, the fighting began.

Tim had been doing better, but after Dan left, he slipped back...not as far as he had before, but still, his dependence on Dan's presence was never more clear than when Dan was gone. Tim started trying to do everyone's chores again. He stopped talking as much, especially at school where he had been accelerated at the beginning of the year. He had very few friends as it was, but he lost even the little bit he'd gained there as some of his more disturbing traits reasserted themselves.

Richard and Sarah just accepted this as being a part of who Tim was. Sarah continued to dote on him and Richard simply chose to pretend that it was a long game that would end when his dad got home. He didn't have to play and so Tim's strange behavior was simply a mildly interesting diversion on occasion. It was Danny who resented Tim's behavior the most. The two boys had always had some friction because Danny was the eldest but he still had to share a room with Richard because Tim could be so frightening at night. Tim clung to Dan and Maria more than he should and got too much attention. The times when Tim acted more normal, Danny's resentment faded, but whenever Tim did anything remotely strange, Danny got angry. As Dan's deployment continued, Danny's resentment grew.

Tim was thirteen and Danny had just turned sixteen...

"Hey, guys," Danny said to his buddies. "Want to see something weird?"

"What?"

Danny grinned. "My cousin."

One of his friends brushed that away. "We see the freak every day at school, Dan. Why would we want to see him here?"

"No, there's something he does here that I'll bet you've never seen before."

"What?"

"His parents were killed. That's why he lives with us. Come on. I'll bet he's in his room." Danny led the way, ignoring the little voice in his head which told him that what he was about to do was wrong and cruel.

For a wonder, Tim's door was open, but he was at his computer, writing another of his stupid programs. Danny had no idea how he had enough time to do that and all the homework he was getting in his classes.

"Hey, Tim," he said.

Tim turned around and looked at the group worriedly. As well he might. The bullying didn't happen often or very intensely (for fear that they'd be found out), but some of Danny's friends were the instigators.

"Wh-What, Danny?"

"I want you to do something for me."

"Wh-What?"

Danny held out a piece of paper and a pen.

"My friends don't know what your parents look like."

There were some snickers. Tim had a photo of his parents set up on his desk.

"I want you to draw them a picture of your parents."

Tim's eyes became fearful. Danny knew that Tim hated this strange thing he did.

"D-D-Danny...please...don't."

"Come on, Tim," Danny said. "Just draw a picture. It doesn't have to be good. I used to draw pictures all the time. Don't you _want_ to draw your mom and dad?"

Tim started trembling a little, and the small voice in Danny's head began speaking a little louder. Danny ignored it.

"D-Danny...I-I-I d-d-don't want t-to."

Danny thrust the paper and pen at him.

"Draw your parents, Tim. Let my friends see what your parents look like."

Seeing that he had no other option what with Danny and four of his friends standing in his bedroom, Tim took the paper and pen and began to draw. The pen started shaking when he was about halfway through. Then, Tim started whispering. It was so soft no one could hear what he was saying. Then, suddenly, he was done and he started shouting...something that Danny had heard more times than he could count.

"I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything!" Tim shouted and then threw the paper and pen right at Dan and pushed through his friends, running to Dan and Maria's bedroom, almost shrieking the same sentence over and over again. "I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything!"

"What's going on?" Maria called and before they could flee and pretend they had nothing to do with Tim's most recent breakdown, she had mounted the stairs and was staring at the guilty group in Tim's bedroom. "Danny?"

Tim's voice could still be heard screaming that he hadn't heard anything. The pen and paper were on the floor. Maria looked at the picture Tim had drawn of the two bodies lying on the floor, one with no face and the other with no neck. Then, she looked at Danny. She never looked away, even as she spoke to his friends.

"It's time for you to go home, boys. Danny has some things to tell me and he won't be able to hang out with you for a few days. Understood?"

"Yes, Mrs. McGee," came the mumbled replies and they all escaped...as Danny wished he could do.

"Danny..."

Danny dropped his eyes to the floor, unable to maintain any bravado. The voice that had been telling him not to do it was now much louder.

"Explain. Now."

"It was a joke."

Tim's shrill voice in the background.

"It doesn't sound like much of a joke to me. Why? Why would you do this to your brother?"

That touched off a brief rebellion. "He's _not_ my brother! Not really! Just because you and Dad wanted to adopt him doesn't mean _I_ wanted to have him as a brother! I _didn't_! We were happier before Tim came around and started hanging on you guys everywhere you went! Before we had someone in the house who's a nut! He acts like he's the only one who cares about Dad being gone! He's not!"

Maria stared at him for a long moment. Danny wasn't looking at her, but he could feel her eyes on him.

"You're worried about your dad, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Danny said sullenly.

"Have you ever stopped to think that Tim knows how that feels?"

Danny lifted his eyes. "How would _he_ know?"

"_Both_ of Tim's parents are dead, Danny! That picture he draws when he tries to draw his parents...that's _not_ a joke. That's really what they looked like when he was stuck in the house with them for four days. He knows about losing parents because he's lost both of them. I know you're worried about your dad. I'm worried about him, too, but so is Tim because he knows how it feels to lose a parent...and he's afraid of losing another one. I know it's been hard having Tim here sometimes, but you've got to start looking past yourself and seeing Tim for what he really is. Not an interloper, not someone who's taking your parents away from you, but a younger brother who desperately wants a family and a normal life. ...and things like this?" She pointed savagely at the picture. "They're not going to help. So...you are going to go into that bathroom because that's where he'll be...and you are going to try and get him to calm down again."

"But...Mom! I don't know what to do!"

"You're going to try. You know what we've tried before. You drove him to it and you're going to try and help him stop...and it's going to be a sincere effort on your part."

"What if I can't?"

"Then, I'll come and help you, but I have to go and pick up Richard from his basketball practice. ...so you'll have to try until I get home. Sarah is at Alyssa's house. Go...go and help your brother."

Maria didn't wait for confirmation. She walked back down the stairs and out of the house.

"I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything!"

Danny winced at the sound because it didn't sound like Tim was going to calm down by himself any time soon. He swallowed and walked resolutely back to his parents' bathroom. He figured he was already grounded for at least a week, but if he didn't do anything, it would definitely be longer. He went into the bathroom, wincing at Tim's loud shrieking. The shower curtain was closed but it wasn't opaque so Danny could see Tim curled up, his hands over his ears, eyes closed.

_You did this to him. Real nice, Dan._

Danny swallowed and opened the shower curtain.

"Hey, Tim?"

"I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything!"

"Um...that's okay, Tim. I don't know what you're talking about. I just want you to stop shouting."

"I didn't hear anything!"

"You don't have to hear anything, but I keep hearing you scream...and it...it kind of scares me."

Danny did make an effort, but he couldn't get Tim to stop screaming. It took half an hour for Maria to get back with Richard who heard the shouting and just went out into the backyard to play. Then, Maria let Danny leave. After another fifteen minutes, the sounds of shouting faded. Danny peeked into the bathroom and saw Maria sitting in the bathtub and rocking Tim back and forth as he shuddered. How could she do that and not be afraid of what Tim did?

In a last-ditch attempt to avoid further punishment, Danny went into the kitchen and set the table for dinner. Maria came down, saw what he was doing and thanked him, but nothing else. When Sarah got home, she asked where Tim was and then climbed the stairs to his room.

"Tim had a bad afternoon, Sarah!" Maria called after her.

"I want to show him a picture I drew at school!" She held it up.

Danny wanted to sink into his shoes. Sarah had drawn a picture of the family, all stick-figures but helpfully labeled. Dan (in his uniform) and Maria standing behind. Then, Danny, Tim, Richard and Sarah in a kind of horseshoe in front. All holding hands and smiling. It was clearly a fantasy. That had never happened.

"That's very nice, Sarah. I think Tim will like it."

Sarah grinned and ran the rest of the way.

"Danny."

"I know. I'm grounded."

"Yes. You are. But that's not what I was going to say."

"What then?"

"Tim is up there writing one of his computer programs for you. I know you don't care for them, but it's the best way he knows to communicate right now. When he's done, will you at least run it?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

She started dinner and nothing more was said of the afternoon's events.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

"What do you want?" Tim asked.

"_I've been wanting to talk to you, Mr. McGee. In fact, this case is the crown jewel of the collection I've been making."_

"I'm not really impressed by that."

"_Aren't you interested in solving your parents' murders, Mr. McGee? I would have thought that would be important to you."_

"Why? You don't know me. You know nothing about me. I spent years trying to remember what happened in that house. I don't remember. I think my parents would be much happier knowing that I'm living my life rather than obsessing about something I can't solve. I only called you to tell you to stop harassing my family and my friends."

"_Harassing? I'm just trying to get some information. You've been very thorough in hiding your information."_

"It's called privacy, Mr. Shands, and I have as much right to privacy as anyone else."

"_I just want to ask you a few questions. I want to hear what you have to say."_

"I have nothing to say and no interest in answering your questions. Good-bye."

"_Did you kill your parents, Mr. McGee?"_

Tim had been about to disconnect, but he heard the shouted question.

"Excuse me?"

"_Did you kill your parents? I've looked through the case files, all the news stories. It's about the only theory that makes any sense, but with you pretending that you don't remember anything that happened on that day, there's no way to figure out just what happened."_

"I'm not pretending. I don't remember, and you accusing me of murder is not the way to get on my good side, just in case you were wondering."

"_All the evidence points to you, you know, Mr. McGee. A scared little boy who accidentally killed his mother and father and then tried to hide it by feigning mental instability."_

"Is there a question in there somewhere?" Tim asked, keeping his voice steady even as his stomach twisted.

"_What do you really remember? Come on...it's not like you'd be punished for it now, you know. An accidental murder by a ten-year-old boy who got scared? That won't mean anything."_

"Maybe not to you, but it would to me, and I don't remember anything."

"_You're sticking to that flimsy story?"_

"Funny how the truth can be derided as flimsy, isn't it?"

"_I'm not going away, Mr. McGee. This case has only ever wanted for an eyewitness account. You can provide that. You can solve this case and give your parents peace."_

"You're assuming that my parents aren't already at peace. Why would they need a lie from their son to be at peace?"

"_It's a twenty-year-old cold case, Mr. McGee. You could be famous! Coming out of hiding for the first time, revealing the truth to the world for the first time, letting everyone know the gruesome details and–"_

"I don't want to be famous," Tim said, cutting him off coldly. "I don't want to let people know the 'gruesome details'. I don't want to know them myself. I'm not in hiding. I'm living my life...a life that does not include you and your need for self-aggrandizement. I have nothing further to say to you. Don't call me and don't call my family and don't call my friends. If you publish a book saying that I am a murderer, I will sue you for libel. Have I made myself clear?"

"_And if I prove that you _are_ the murderer, Mr. McGee?"_

"You can't prove what isn't true. Good-bye, Mr. Shands. Do not call me or my family again. That is something that I can and will stop. I won't have their lives invaded by a callous gold-digger. It's all about the Benjamins for you, isn't it."

"_It's about the truth, Mr. McGee."_

"If that were the case, you'd know the truth when you heard it. I don't remember anything that happened when my parents were killed. The Baltimore police apparently never felt it necessary to accuse me of the crime. _That_ is the truth. Leave me alone and leave my family alone. Good-bye."

Tim hung up, but he was shaking so much that he had to put down his phone. He had thought that he'd never have to consider that horrible possibility again. Ever. He knew that the possibility existed, but he tried not to think about it. What could he do if it was true? Say he was sorry? To whom? To his parents who had been dead for more than half his life? To Uncle Dan? Who would accept his apology and say he was forgiven? It was impossible to do anything about it if it were true. That Ellis Shands was right about one thing: he wouldn't be punished for it...not by the courts anyway. Tim knew, however, that if he ever did find out that he had murdered his own parents, even on accident, he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

Detective Benedict had been bad enough when Tim knew that he had hit him, even if he hadn't fired the kill shot. It had been bad enough knowing that people had been murdered because of his book. If it fell out that he had killed his own mother and father? Tim shook his head. No. He had refused to engage with this man and he wouldn't dwell on it. That was the end. No more. He shivered.

"Jethro, you want to go for a run?"

Jethro barked and ran for his leash.

"Good. I need to change my clothes. Then, we'll go."

Tim went for a run, had dinner and went to bed early.

...and had the worst nightmares he'd had in more than ten years.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_Twenty years ago..._

Tim wouldn't come down to eat. Sarah asked to take a plate up to him, but Maria said no, that Tim would eat when he was ready. She never mentioned anything about why Tim had fallen apart today. No one asked. Danny didn't because he already knew, but Sarah and Richard just accepted it.

After dinner, Maria went upstairs for a few minutes. It was Richard's turn to do the dishes, a task he always dreaded and he moaned and groaned as he carried his plate to the sink. Danny felt that he should help clear the table...not that it would really change anything.

"Why are you helping me, Danny?" Richard asked. "It's not your job."

"Because I want to. Shut up."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing. Don't throw the potatoes away. We can save them."

"I hate hashbrowns."

"Then, don't eat them."

"You did something. You only help me with my jobs when you get in trouble. Did you do something to Tim, again?"

"What do you mean again?"

"I heard about what you guys did to him at school last month."

"I didn't do anything."

"Your friends did," Richard said...blithely scraping the leftover potatoes into a Tupperware bowl. "You knew about it and didn't tell Tim. You think Mom would care that you weren't actually there?"

"Shut up!"

"I'm just saying."

"Well, don't." He furiously grabbed other plates and dishes from the table and carted them over to the sink.

Richard jumped up onto the counter and watched Danny as he put the leftovers in the fridge.

"Danny?"

"What?"

"Don't you like Tim at all?"

Danny didn't answer.

"Don't you? I mean...he's weird and all, but he's not mean. He never does anything to you, but you always seem mad at him."

"I'm not always mad at him," Danny muttered but then he looked at Richard. "Do _you_ like him?"

"Sure." Richard shrugged with the practiced nonchalance of a ten-year-old.

"Why sure?"

"Doesn't really matter. I mean...Tim's part of our family. You _have _to love your family. I think it's the law or something."

"He's not really."

"Yeah, he is. Mom and Dad adopted him. I have friends who were adopted. They're part of _their_ families. Why wouldn't Tim be? Besides, even if he wasn't, he's still our cousin. Dad's his uncle. He's still family. Adopting him just makes him _more _of our family."

Danny wasn't sure how to respond to that. Instead, he glared at Richard.

"I'm not doing everything. This is still your job."

Richard grinned and hopped off the counter.

"Danny?"

Danny looked up and saw Maria coming into the kitchen.

"Yeah, Mom?"

She jerked her head up the stairs and Danny nodded reluctantly.

"Go on."

"Yeah, Mom." Danny walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs to Tim's room. The door was open.

Tim was sitting on his bed, facing the wall. The blankets were all messed up but he wasn't hiding under them. Danny looked over at the computer and stifled a sigh when he saw the brief line of text and a blinking light beneath it.

"Tim...if you have something to say...you can just _talk_ to me. You don't have to do this stupid..."

Tim's shoulders hunched but he didn't turn around, didn't speak.

"All right. All right." Danny shook his head and sat down at the computer.

_What is your name?_

"Tim, you know what my name is. Do I have to–?" No response from the figure on the bed. "Fine."

_Danny_

_Danny, why do you hate Tim? Pick one:_

_1. He's not my real brother.  
__2. He stole my room.  
__3. He's a psycho.  
__4. He makes me look bad.  
__5. Other_

Danny looked over at Tim on the bed. Either Tim had heard Danny complain before or else he was simply more aware of what was going on than Danny had ever thought he was.

"Tim, I don't hate you."

Still nothing.

_5_

_Danny, you have chosen Other as your answer. Does this mean that you don't hate Tim? Y or N_

_Y_

_Danny, why are you so mean then? Pick one:_

_1. I want Tim to go away.  
__2. Tim takes up too much time from Mom and Dad.  
__3. It's easy to be mean to someone who can't fight back.  
__4. Other_

2

_Danny, Tim is sorry that he does this. He wishes he could just be normal like you. Do you believe him? Y or N_

Y

_Danny, what can Tim do to make you like him? What can he do to be normal? Pick one:_

_1. Not be here.  
__2. Stop being a psycho.  
__3. I don't know.  
__4. Other_

3

Danny hated doing these programs. Tim obviously had spent a lot of time making it, which meant that he had come up with all these answers and all these questions a long time in advance. A couple of the programs had made Danny laugh, but programs like this only made him uncomfortable.

_Danny, Tim doesn't know either. He does try, and sometimes he gets mad at you when you are mean to him. Like today. Why did you do that to him today? Pick one:_

_1. Because I could.  
__2. Because it made me look cool.  
__3. Because I don't get why he does it.  
__4. Other_

3

_Danny, Tim doesn't know why he does it either. It scares him. He doesn't like drawing that picture and he wishes that he could not draw it. Do you understand this? Y or N_

Y

_Danny, Tim wants to be your brother. Will you let him? Y or N_

Danny looked at the question. No one had _ever_ asked him if he wanted Tim for a brother, and if they had, he would have said no. Who wants a freak for a brother? ...but for some reason, this time, he looked at the question and wasn't sure what to say.

_I don't know._

_Danny, I miss my dad. I know that you miss your dad. I miss your dad, too. I sometimes forget that he is not my dad. I am sorry that I do this. I try to remember, but sometimes I forget. Your dad and my dad were brothers. Can we be brothers, too? Y or N_

"Brothers don't always get along, Tim. I fight with Richard all the time."

Still no response.

"Come on, Tim. I don't want to finish this stupid program!"

Silence.

_I don't know_.

_ERROR: You have typed an unrecognized response._

_Danny, I miss my dad. I know that you miss your dad. I miss your dad, too. I sometimes forget that he is not my dad. I am sorry that I do this. I try to remember, but sometimes I forget. Your dad and my dad were brothers. Can we be brothers, too? Y or N_

Danny grimaced. No avoiding it this time. He had to choose. Tim was stubbornly making him choose yes or no. ...and it didn't matter that in the eyes of pretty much everyone they already were brothers. He sighed.

Y

_Danny, Tim is glad, but he is afraid to talk to you. That is why he makes these programs. Then, his feelings cannot be hurt by what people say. You have said that you will be brothers with Tim. Is this true? Y or N_

Y

_Danny, say it out loud. Tim will know that you have finished the program._

"Tim...we can be brothers."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

"I didn't hear anything!"

Tim woke up, breathing heavily, tears on his cheeks. He rolled over and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He wondered why that was always his declaration whenever he fell back into the unknown memory of his childhood. He couldn't explain it to himself, but it seemed like it was very important to his childhood self to make sure everyone knew he hadn't heard anything.

The phone was in his hand and he'd dialed a familiar number before he'd had time to realize he was doing it, before he had time to be embarrassed by the fact that he was calling for comfort about a nightmare. ...and as he listened the phone ring, he pulled out a piece of paper and started drawing.

"_Tim, it's really early."_

"I'm sorry."

"_A nightmare?"_

"Yeah."

"_How bad?"_

"Remember the last time I called you?"

"_That bad?"_

"Worse."

"_What happened?"_

"How's Aunt Maria?"

"_Still upset about losing her hair."_

"But she's going to be okay?"

"_That's what the doctors tell us. They said they got all the cancer out. She just has to wait until her hair starts growing again."_

"That's good. No wigs still?"

"_Nope. She's determined to avoid that. She said that if God thought it right for her to lose her hair...who is she to disagree? The head scarves are doing her well enough."_

"I'm glad."

"_Yeah, we all are. Now. What happened?"_

"That guy who called you yesterday...and called Danny and Sarah and Uri..."

"_What? All of them?"_

"Yeah. I called him back last night. He's...writing a book on unsolved murders on the East Coast."

"_Oh. I see."_

"Yeah. Dad, he..." Tim stopped embarrassed. "Sorry."

"_Tim, you know that I don't mind. No one does. Not anymore."_

"That's not true. Danny... he..."

"_Is no longer a teenager, Tim. He's far from it, and he doesn't resent you anymore."_

"He may not resent me, but you know he's never really completely..."

"_He would never say anything if you called me Dad, Tim...and you know it."_

"Just because he didn't say anything doesn't mean he wouldn't be thinking it." Tim finished his drawing, turned the paper over and started again.

"_Tim, we've been over this more than once, but I'll say one more time: If you don't _want_ to call me Dad, I don't mind. ...but you've been a part of our family for a long time...even by the way you started reckoning time."_

"What do you mean?" Tim asked.

"_Don't you remember? You told me once that you felt as though the time you spent with us didn't really start until about four years after you came. That before that you were not really living."_

"Oh, yeah."

"_Even with that, you've been a part of our family for nearly twenty years. Tim...I think of you as one of my own kids and so does Maria. In fact, if it wasn't for the fact that I'd probably fail...and if I succeeded, she'd hurt me, I'd wake her up and let her tell you herself."_

Tim laughed.

"_I mean it, Tim...but if it makes you more comfortable, Uncle Dad works just as well."_

"I'll remember that, Da–..." Tim sighed as he colored in his mother's face.

"_What happened when you were talking to this would-be author?"_

"He said that he thinks I remember more of what happened than I've said. ...and he thinks that I killed my parents."

"_He just came out and said that to you?"_

"Yeah."

"_I hope you told him where to go and how to get there."_

"I did."

"_I hear a 'but' in there."_

"You probably know what's coming, too."

"_Probably, and I will curse those detectives to the skies for them ever putting that thought into your head."_

"It's still a possibility, and we both know it. I may not ever remember, but there's no evidence that conclusively eliminates me as the killer."

"_Tim, let me tell you something. Conclusive evidence or not, I do know this: Your parents would _not_ want you worrying about it. They would want you to be happy. If that means never remembering or if that means being rude to a piece of...to a jerk who wants to make a name for himself by dragging yours through the mud...so be it. This kind of thought doesn't deserve your time. None of it."_

Tim pulled out another piece of paper and drew his dead parents again.

"_He got under your skin, didn't he."_

"Yeah...but I didn't let him know it. At least I hope I didn't. I threatened to sue him for libel."

"_Good. These people who only care about money need to know that you can't be pushed around."_

"Right. I'm hoping it's over, but if he calls you again, let me know. I can keep him from bothering you guys at least."

"_How many times, Tim?"_

Tim looked at the paper. "Three so far."

"_And it's still new to you every time?"_

"Yeah. It's funny. You'd think that after so many times drawing it, I'd remember what I was drawing at least, but the first time I look at it...it's new...just for a moment I don't know what it is...and then I remember. Why can't I remember what happened?" Before Dan could answer, Tim sighed. "It's not really a question. If there was an answer to it, we would have got it a long time ago, I think."

"_You're probably right. I hope you haven't been dwelling on it this much of late."_

"No. Just yesterday...and probably today. ...maybe tomorrow. He was so insistent...and I really don't remember."

"_I know you don't. I'd tell you not to think about it, but I think that would be a waste of breath."_

"Right now, it would be. I just need a couple of days. It's been so long since I had to think of it at all."

"_Well, I hope that man calls again and I'll give him a piece of my mind, let him know that he's made a huge mistake it attacking a member of the McGee family."_

Tim laughed and paused in his drawing. "You know what? I hope he never calls again...and I can just get on with my life. That's what I want."

"_Nothing wrong with that. ...and nothing wrong with me wanting to rip him to shreds."_

"If he somehow manages to call Richard, then I'll be right with you."

"_Feeling better?"_

"Yeah."

"_Going back to sleep?"_

"No, but I'll bet you do as soon as I hang up."

"_No kidding. I'm glad you called."_

"Me, too. Good night...Uncle Dad."

"_Good night, son."_

Tim hung up and sat back. It was just past four-thirty. He didn't think he could sleep again, but that was all right. Sleepless nights happened and he would deal with them like he always had. He took the two pages and added them to a growing pile in his closet. He cleaned them out every so often, but he didn't feel like he could throw them away right when he drew them...and he kept one of the first ones he had drawn.

Tim picked up the original and looked at it.

"What _happened_?" he asked.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Twenty years ago..._

Tim and Danny didn't instantly become bosom buddies...nor even friends, but some of the tension between them did dissipate...and Tim faced less torment at school. Then, one day, Danny got hit in the face by a rogue baseball, knocking out one of his front teeth. Maria had to hurry him to the dentist and see what could be done about the mess in his mouth. Tim had to take Richard and Sarah home. Maria worried about doing that and thought about just dragging the whole lot of them to the hospital with her, but Tim had said he would do it, that it would be okay.

Maria allowed it and spent the whole time sitting with Danny worried about both her eldest son and her adopted son...and her other two children. When they got home, the house was very quiet. Maria got Danny settled on the couch and then went on the search for her other three children.

She found them in the backyard on the trampoline.

"Night!" Richard shouted.

Tim and Sarah both froze in place their bodies in strange positions. Richard jumped around the trampoline, obviously trying to make them move.

"Morning!" he said.

Tim and Sarah instantly started jumping around.

"Night!"

Freeze, but Tim was balanced on one foot and began to wobble. He tried to keep his balance, but ended up flailing his arms in an attempt to stay still.

"You moved! You moved! You're It!" Richard shouted, pointing triumphantly.

Sarah started giggling and jumping around. Tim got up and gave a tentative smile.

"I wanna be It!" Sarah said, pulling on Richard.

"You didn't get caught, Sarah. Tim did. He has to be It."

"I _wanna_ be It!" she shouted.

"She can be It, Richard. I don't care," Tim said.

"Guys, you want to go and gawk at your brother?" Maria asked.

"Does he have a fat lip?" Richard asked, the game completely forgotten.

"Does he have a hole?" Sarah asked, jumping off the trampoline.

"Go and see...but be nice to him!"

They ran in and Tim climbed down off the tramp.

"Were you having fun?"

Tim shrugged. "Richard wanted to play it. Sarah wanted to play something. I just made us all play the same thing. Was that right?"

"Yes, that's right. Come on inside, Tim. I've got news for everyone. Happy news this time."

Tim followed and sat on the couch, slightly separate from everyone else...until Sarah came and climbed onto his lap.

"Okay, everyone, calm down."

"Danny has a hole in his mouth!" Sarah announced.

"I know, Sarah. Shh."

"What, Mom?" Danny asked around his swollen lip and his deadened mouth.

"Your dad is coming home." Her gaze included Tim.

"What?"

"Really?"

"When?"

"Two weeks. He just got the news. He'll be home in two weeks."

Tim was obviously happy like everyone else...but after a few celebratory minutes, he slipped away, up the stairs to his room. Maria went up to check on him and found him relentlessly drawing the same picture he always drew.

"Tim, what's wrong?"

Tim only shook his head, and she couldn't get another word out of him that night. All he did was draw.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Ellis Shands smiled. Phase two was completed. Soon, phase three could be put in motion. It wasn't every day that one got the chance to solve an unsolvable mystery. Yes, soon.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Ducky walked into Autopsy, prepared for another long day. First and foremost, he turned on the lights...and was shocked to find Tim sitting on one of his tables.

"Why, Timothy...why are you sitting here in the dark?"

"Why not?" Tim returned. "It's not like I've never been here before. Not scared of the dead bodies anymore, Ducky."

"How long have you been here?"

"A while."

"Then, what in the world are you doing here so early?"

Tim looked, not afraid, but disturbed.

"Ducky...can I ask you a question?"

"Certainly."

Tim suddenly laughed. "I don't know why I'm bothering. If there was an answer..."

"What is it, Timothy? I can't guarantee that I'll know, but it doesn't hurt to make the attempt."

Tim looked at him earnestly, almost pleadingly. "Ducky, why do people forget?"

Ducky was surprised by the question, and then Tim's eyes widened.

"Oh, I'm sorry...that's not what I meant. That was a stupid thing to ask you."

Ducky was confused for a moment and then realized to what Tim was referring.

"Not a problem, lad. My mother was very old when she passed. It was difficult but not unexpected. What _is_ the meaning of your question?"

"Sometimes...people forget things that happened, bad things. Why?"

Ducky took a breath, not understanding where this was going but willing to try and help.

"Well, there are a number of reasons. It can be as a result of physical trauma or it can be purely psychological in nature."

"Why do people forget without a physical cause?"

"Dissociative amnesia can be due to a traumatic event, one so awful that, in order to deal with that event, the person in essence builds a wall between his conscious memory and the memory of the trauma. This is also known as repressed memory. There are some psychologists who say that repressed memory doesn't actually happen, that it's either fabricated by the patient or that the recovered memory is false either by intent or by manipulation."

"But it really happens!" Tim said, almost angrily, and then dropped his head. "Sorry, Ducky."

"This seems to be quite a personal topic for you, Timothy. Is there something you'd like tell me?"

Tim shook his head. "No, but there is evidence that it _does _happen, right?"

"Of course. It could hardly be a debate if there wasn't evidence for both sides. Unfortunately, there have been cases when fabricated memories have been uncovered. However, there is also strong evidence that, for a variety of reasons, victims of traumatic attacks, for instance sexual abuse or rape, will suppress their memory of the attack in an effort to avoid the pain and anxiety the memory brings. It often will come back to their conscious memory at a later time, rarely with psychiatric assistance. Normally, if the memory comes, it is triggered by a random event, a smell, a sight, something they hear."

"There's nothing that can be done to...to _force_ it?"

"No, not generally. Timothy, do you–?"

Tim jumped off the table.

"Thanks, Ducky. I didn't really think there was anything different. I just wanted to know for sure. Thanks."

"Timothy!"

"I'd better go up and get to work," Tim said with a falsely hearty smile. "We have a case to solve...right? That's what matters."

"Timothy, wait," Ducky said. "What's going on?"

Tim shook his head. "Nothing to wait for, Ducky. Nothing at all. I just need to...get back to work, stop wanting something that can't ever be."

He walked out of Autopsy, not responding to Ducky's calls. He wasn't running. Ducky knew that he could catch up with Tim if he wanted to, but he felt that there was no use in trying to force Tim to reveal whatever had inspired his questions.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Nineteen years ago..._

Dan rolled over in bed. It was early in the morning. Then, he sensed someone standing by his bed and he opened his eyes. ...and let out an inarticulate sound of surprise.

Tim was standing there, staring at him, even in the darkness, his eyes looked much too large.

"Tim?"

Maria woke up and rolled over as well. "What's going on, Dan?"

"I don't know. Tim?"

Dan reached out and took hold of Tim's arm. He was stiff as a board.

"Tim, can you hear me?"

There was a soft whimper but Tim's eyes didn't move and he didn't acknowledge either the touch or question.

"He's not awake, Maria. Another night terror. I'll get him back to bed if I can...see if I can stop it before it gets too loud."

"Good luck." She'd had no success the night before when he'd started screaming in his room.

Dan took Tim by the arm and gently led him back to his bedroom. He was hoping to forestall a meltdown. They'd been lucky in the time since he'd been home from the Gulf. Tim had gone about a week where he clung to Dan, wanting to be with him all the time, but then had calmed down and taken more tentative steps. It had been very encouraging, but as another anniversary loomed, Tim's nightmares had resurged and he had withdrawn again. It wasn't quite the withdrawal he'd indulged in before, but these steps backward were hard to take as they neared the fourth year since Tim's parents had been killed. The whimpering increased and Dan knew there was going to be screaming. It would be the third time this week.

They reached the bedroom and Dan closed the door, although it wouldn't do any good once the screaming began. Tim's mouth opened and he began breathing heavily.

"Come on, Tim. Tim, wake up. It's all right. Can you hear me?"

The whimpering began to grow louder.

"Tim, I know it's scary, but it's just a dream. That's all. Only a dream. You don't have to see it. Just wake up."

A small scream escaped and Dan began to rock Tim back and forth.

"It's all right. It's all right. You're safe, Tim. No one is in danger. Everything is fine. Everything is fine."

On and on as Dan struggled to keep Tim from screaming, trying to get him to relax enough to either go back to sleep or wake up. It was more than fifteen minutes of whimpers and soft screams before Tim began to calm down. He was sweating, panting, but the whimpering began to fade. Another fifteen minutes and he was slumped against Dan, asleep once more, never having regained consciousness fully, but never moving on to the full-throated screams of the previous terror.

Dan sighed and lay Tim back down on his bed, tucking him in and watching his face for any sign of fear coming back again. There was nothing. Tim was sleeping as deeply as anything. Sometimes he remembered the fear in the morning. Sometimes, he had no idea what he'd done during the night. Dan wasn't sure which was better because he firmly believed that Tim was experiencing what he had seen and suppressed four years ago. He had no evidence for it and Tim never could tell them what happened during these episodes...but still, it made sense to Dan that this would be the way Tim's mind dealt with something it still couldn't let Tim consciously remember.

"Dad?"

Dan looked back. Danny was standing in the doorway.

"What is it, Danny?" he whispered.

Danny looked at Tim and then at his father. "Is he okay?"

"Now, he is. I think."

Dan swept Tim's sweaty hair off his forehead and then stood up and walked out to the hallway.

"Did he wake you up?"

Danny nodded.

"I'm pretty awake, Danny. You, too?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Let's go down and talk."

Danny nodded and started down the stairs. Dan watched his eldest son and knew that he still didn't really care for having Tim as a part of the family. He didn't say anything, which was good, but sometimes, there was a look in his eye that said he wished Tim wasn't there.

At times like this.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure Tim's not faking it?"

"Faking what?"

"Not remembering...being...weird like this?"

Dan smiled. "Danny, do you really think that Tim _likes_ the torment he gets at school because of how weird he acts?"

"No...but it's been four years. Shouldn't he be over it by now?"

"Over what? Seeing his parents murdered? Danny, do you think _you'd_ be able to get over something like that easily?"

"Maybe not easily, but...but it's been a long time...forever it seems and he's still...still like this tonight."

"Yes, he is, but can't you see how much better he's doing?"

"He talks now."

"Yes...and?"

"He's doing his homework. More than that. You're going to bump him up another grade, aren't you."

"Not officially. He'll just be taking more advanced classes. He needs to be challenged because he doesn't work well when he just has to do what comes easily."

"He likes Sarah."

"That's because Sarah loves him. He's her brother...unlike you who still only tolerates his presence."

Danny looked steadfastly at the counter.

"Danny, I'm not going to try and force you to accept Tim as your brother, but he is...whether you like it or not. Tim is a part of this family and I'd hate for you to force us to choose between you...because your mother and I see both of you as our sons. Tim is needy. I know and I know it bothers you. Tim knows it, too. He just really can't help it, Danny. He's doing so much better, even tonight. He didn't scream."

"I want him to be normal, Dad."

"So does he. So do I. I would love to see Tim really have fun...but he isn't and he hasn't. Hopefully, he will some day. Give him a chance, Danny. Give him a real chance to be your brother. Family isn't about having people who are perfect. It's about accepting people who are far from perfect and are likely to disappoint you at one time or another. Maybe if you stopped giving him death glares whenever he does start clinging to us, he'd stop feeling guilty for it and start just getting past it."

"I don't get that."

"Danny, we've never really talked about what happened to Tim mostly because it's his business and no one really knows what happened, but we do know that he was in that house for four days while the bodies of his mother and father began to decompose. The detective who found him said that Tim thought they were still alive because they were moving. ...but they weren't moving. Maggots had hatched and were...eating the bodies. He saw them crawling. He was there with his dead parents. Whether they lived a long time or not, and it's possible they lived for a couple of minutes after they were shot, Tim was there with them. He couldn't help them and for some reason he didn't feel like he could leave. He's been terrified by what happened...but he also feels guilty." Dan put an arm around Danny's shoulders even as he continued his lecture. "When you glare because Tim feels like he needs us more than you think he should, he feels guilty. He tries not to need us, but he does. If you can let him need us, then he can feel safe and he'll be less likely to need us as much later on. Danny, your mom and I won't _ever_ love you any less because we have to take care of Tim more. Never."

"It still bothers me."

"You can tell me that, and you can tell your mother. Don't try and hide it from us, but for Tim's sake, could you at least not let _him_ know?"

There was a long silence.

"Tim's going to graduate the same year I do, isn't he."

"It's starting to look that way. Does that bother you?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"But that's not going to change?"

"No. It's not. Graduation seems important, but your life and Tim's life is a lot more important than two hours of one night."

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"How long did it take you to get over Uncle Levi dying?"

Dan sighed. "Danny...Levi was my brother. More than that, he was my twin. It felt like a part of me died when I found out that he'd been murdered. You don't get over that. I'm just better at hiding it than Tim is...and I know how to look past it. Tim hasn't learned that yet."

"You still miss him?"

"Every day."

Tim slept through the night and woke up in the morning remembering nothing about the night before. Later that week, Tim went through another of his clinging phases. Danny met his dad's gaze and swallowed before asking Tim if he'd show him how to play _King's Quest V_ that they'd just bought for the family computer downstairs. Tim blinked at Danny for a few seconds, obviously surprised by the question and then smiled and nodded. Danny looked back over his shoulders for a moment as Tim preceded him out of the room.

Dan grinned and gave him a thumbs up. Danny smiled and then spent about an hour sitting with Tim at the computer, learning the tricks of the game.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Tim tried to focus on the screen as he worked his way through the records of their murder victims, as they'd all been working for the last couple of days. ...and he was making about as much progress as he had been for the last couple of days. Ellis Shands had not called again, but Tim couldn't shake what he had said, and for the first time in many years, he was dwelling on his parents' murder and his lack of memory about what he had seen and experienced during those days. He kept trying to pull _something_ from his brain, trying all the tricks his therapist had suggested back when they were still trying to help him remember.

Nothing was working and it was really frustrating. He hated that he couldn't seem to dredge up memories that, by all rights, should be impossible to forget.

_Why can't I remember this? Why can't I pull anything out of my head that would be _useful_? Then, I could stop people like that writer from saying what he did about me...unless it's true._

Tim sighed. It always came back to that. As long as he couldn't remember, he couldn't ever say for certain that he hadn't been the one to kill his own parents. He wanted to know, but at the same time, the thought of people like Shands being right...terrified him.

"Tim!"

Tim jumped and looked up to find Tony and Ziva looking at him with something akin to alarm.

"What?"

"What are you doing, McGee?" Ziva asked, worry saturating her tone.

"What do you mean?"

Tony pointed wordlessly at the desk. Tim looked and then couldn't hold back a wince. He'd started drawing his parents on a piece of paper, but had apparently been doing it so much on the same piece of paper that he'd started ripping holes in it with the pen...and was now drawing on the desk.

"Oops." It wasn't eloquent, perhaps, but it was all he could think of to say. He tried to smile at Tony and Ziva, but they weren't having it.

"Yeah...what's up with you, McGee? We must have been saying your name for more than a minute!"

"What are you drawing there, McGee?" Ziva asked.

"Nothing."

"That's not nothing, Probie," Tony said, his expression as grave as Tim had ever seen. "You were holding that pen so tight your knuckles were white."

"It's nothing, guys. It's just... I was just..."

"If you say that you were just thinking again, I'm going to laugh in your face, McGee."

"I was."

Tony let out a short bark of laughter. "You can't pass this off as nothing, not when you gouged a psychotic drawing into the desk. It looked like the crime scene."

"It's not. It has nothing to with the case. It's personal, okay?"

"What? Your own personal crime scene?"

Tim stood up, shredded paper in hand. "No, no, it's not. It's nothing. Okay? Just...just leave it alone!"

"Leave what alone, McGee?"

Tim winced again. Gibbs hearing and seeing this was the last thing he needed. He looked at Tony and Ziva, silently pleading for them to let him get out of this. Both turned away.

"McGee was just about to explain why he has damaged his desk drawing the same picture over and over again, Gibbs," Ziva said, looking back at him once with sympathy but refusing to give in to that sentiment.

"McGee?" Gibbs said.

Tim looked at the paper in his hand and then down at his desk.

"It's...nothing important," he said, in a last bid for keeping the past where it belonged.

"This the same picture you had at the crime scene, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

Tim felt his face flushing. "You saw that?"

"Yes."

Tim sank back down onto his chair, knowing that there was no way of hiding his lurid history from his friends any longer.

"Well, McGee?"

Tim crumpled up the paper, pulled out another piece and, thinking of his parents, remembering them playing with him in the backyard, he started to draw.

"Um...Probie? What are you doing?"

"You want to know, you should probably be able to see the whole thing. Don't worry. It doesn't take me very long to draw it. I've had more than twenty years of experience doing it. My hands remember, even if I don't."

"What does _that_ mean?" Ziva asked, clearly worried.

"It means that you don't really want to know what this means, but I'm going to tell you because you won't leave me alone until I do." He finished drawing the picture, looking at it with his usual faint surprise.

"That's my mother," Tim said, holding up the sketch. "She was shot in the face. That's my father. He was shot in the throat. This is the way they looked when they died."

He had said it very calmly as he looked at his coworkers, but he saw the shock in their faces as they took in what he said.

"These are my parents."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Eighteen years ago..._

The year that Tim turned fifteen, Dan and Maria decided that it was time to do a family trip. They'd taken little day trips to places close to them, and family had come to visit, but they'd never wanted to risk Tim on a week-long trip. Everyone in close quarters in the car, sharing hotel rooms, but they decided that it was time to try it. They hoped that it wouldn't be a disaster, but they mentioned none of that. Instead, they told their children about how they were going to drive up the California coast and stop in exciting places all along the way, taking about a week, maybe a little more. They would let every child pick one place they'd visit. Sarah and Richard started talking instantly about the places they wanted to see. Danny and Tim both stayed quiet. Once Sarah and Richard had firmly established that they wanted to see about twenty different things apiece, Danny suggested Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey. Tim had said nothing.

"Tim, what about you?" Sarah asked. "What do you want to see?"

"Do I get to pick, too?"

"Of course," Dan said.

"Anything?"

"Well, anything along our route."

Tim looked at the map and then at Danny, seeming a little nervous.

"Can we go to...Palomar Observatory?" He was almost asking Danny if he minded.

"That sounds cool to me," Danny said.

They were rewarded with another of Tim's tentative smiles.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_Present..._

"When did this happen?" Ziva asked. "You never said anything."

Tim smiled. "That's because it happened twenty-three years ago, Ziva. I was adopted. You've never known my parents and there's no reason you should have."

"Twenty-three years...you were ten, Probie!"

"Yeah, I know, Tony. I was there...even if I don't remember it." Tim looked at the picture again and sighed.

"Don't remember?"

"Yeah. I draw this picture but I don't know that I'm drawing it. Every time I draw it, it's always briefly a surprise. I can't ever keep what I draw in my conscious memory. It slips away. I've drawn this hundreds...even thousands of times in the last twenty years."

"Why?"

"Can't draw my parents any other way," Tim confessed, shrugging, as if this wasn't a fact that used to have the power to drive him to tears. "Ironic, isn't it? I can't remember my parents being dead, the way they looked, but I can draw them. I _can_ remember the way they looked alive, but I _can't_ draw that."

"I don't understand, McGee," Tony said.

"No one does. I've been in therapy for the last twenty years trying to remember this, trying to make myself fit for social interaction."

"Therapy?"

Tim smiled at Tony. "I told you that I'd been to a therapist before, Tony. I don't go very often anymore, just once a month. It was a lot more when I was young and couldn't even form a simple declarative sentence without losing it."

Gibbs walked over to Tim's desk. Now they were all towering over him and Tim found the situation both amusing and worrying. He didn't want to talk about this, not now. Not ever...but he also recognized that there was no other option and to see them all so worried about something that he'd been living with the entire time he'd known them...it struck him as funny for some reason.

"You're not making much sense, Probie."

"If you want to know the whole story, you could call the Baltimore police department. They're the ones who investigated. It's still a cold case over there."

"You lived in Baltimore?"

"Yeah, for about five years...until I was ten."

"Why don't you tell us the whole story, McGee?" Gibbs said. "From the beginning."

"Why not? ...well, because I don't want to, Boss," Tim said. "Can't we just leave it at my parents were brutally murdered, I don't remember it and one of the results of that is that I draw creepy images of my parents' corpses?"

The expressions were serious and didn't lighten one bit at Tim's question. He sighed.

"All right. All right...but not out here, okay? I'd rather not have this be common knowledge or the subject of the latest scuttlebutt."

"We can do that," Gibbs said and gestured.

Reluctantly, Tim stood and followed the rest of them up the stairs to one of the conference rooms. This wasn't a discussion he was looking forward to...but maybe it was time to let them in on some of the details of his life. It was a lot easier just to talk about college, give brief glimpses into his high school life. ...moments he had enjoyed, rather than talk about the time that had nearly ruined his entire existence.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Eighteen years ago..._

"I've wanted to come here for a long time," Tim whispered, staring with awe at the Hale telescope.

"Why?" Danny asked, looking back at Sarah (bored) and Richard (swiftly losing interest).

Tim just sighed and Danny looked at him in surprise, Tim looked happy. He looked content...and Danny realized for the first time that he'd never seen Tim like this before.

"It's not the biggest telescope."

"Not anymore, but it was for about 30 years," Tim said. "Isn't it cool?"

"Sure."

Tim turned to look at him, serious and solemn once more. "Are you tired of being here? Should we go?"

"Are _you_ done?"

Tim looked wistfully at the telescope. "I can be."

"You don't have to be. We all get our turn. This is _yours_. Tell me why I should be excited."

Tim still looked worried and so Danny smiled. "Go on. Tell me why this has you all giddy. Heck, you _smiled_, Tim."

Tim laughed a little. "Okay."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Dan looked over at Tim and Danny and was surprised to see Tim talking and gesturing. It was the most animation he'd shown...possibly ever.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Maria murmured.

"I don't know, but Tim looks happy. I don't care what they're talking about if it makes him smile."

"You think Danny is enjoying himself?"

"I think he's interested...but _enjoy_ might be too strong a word."

"Maybe there's hope after all."

"Maybe."

"Are we going yet?" Sarah asked.

"Not yet. Why don't you and Richard go into the gift shop? If you find something _small_, we'll get it for you."

The two younger kids perked up right away and ran into the shop.

Danny and Tim came over to them.

"Hey, Dad, can I use your camera? Tim needs a picture in front of the telescope."

"Sure."

"Here," Maria said, taking the camera. "Why don't you both get in the picture?"

Tim and Danny both looked at each other and then Danny smiled and pulled Tim over to the telescope.

"Come on," Maria urged. "At least _act_ like you like each other."

Danny laughed and put his arm around Tim's shoulders and then gave a toothy grin, tilting his head toward Tim. Right as Maria took the picture, Tim turned his head slightly toward Danny with a surprised expression on his face.

"Oh, you two."

Danny laughed. "You're the one who wanted us to act like we liked each other, Mom."

"Okay," Dan said, coming out of the shop. "We're going outside before these two talk me into buying anything else. ...and no, we will not be buying anymore freeze-dried ice cream."

"You ready to go outside, Tim?" Danny asked.

"Yeah. I want to go on the trail...is that okay?" Again, he was worried.

"That's a great idea. We'll have another long car ride when we leave. Let's get all our kinks out."

As they headed outside, Danny whispered to Sarah who instantly ran over to Tim, grabbed his hand and dragged him to the trail asking him to tell her about the dome and why it looked like an ice cream cone. Richard found some bugs that interested him, but he kept up with everyone.

Dan walked over to Danny who had slowed down to let Tim and Sarah get further ahead of them.

"I'm proud of you, Danny."

Danny shrugged. "It's better than him moping. ...but it's hard."

"Yeah, it is. Thank you for helping. Make sure you have fun, too."

"I am. Tim knows a lot about this stuff, Dad. Maybe I can tell him about the aquarium."

"I'm sure you can. Just remember that you're also on vacation and you don't have to entertain your brother every moment."

"I will, Dad."

"Danny! Come look at this huge gross bug Richard found!" Sarah shouted.

They looked up the trail and sure enough, Richard was holding out a stick with a large beetle on it. Both Sarah and Tim were staring at it with interest. Dan, Maria and Danny all hurried to see the bug.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

"Ducky's going to be joining us," Gibbs said as they sat down at the table.

"Why?" Tim asked. "I'm not crazy and I'm not dead."

"You spoke with him and worried him," Gibbs said pointedly.

Tim sighed and didn't answer. Instead, he turned over the paper he'd brought with him and began to draw his parents again. It was hard to avoid it when he was on edge anyway and now was being forced to bring it all up again. It made him feel better even while it earned him concerned looks from Ziva and Tony. Ducky arrived a couple of minutes later and smiled at Tim.

"Hi, Ducky."

"Hello, Timothy. You don't look thrilled."

"I'm not. This is not a story I want to tell." He looked at them all arrayed around him. "Do you understand? I don't want to tell this story. Can't we just not do this?"

"Whatever this is, it's affecting your work, McGee," Gibbs said. "Come clean and we can figure out what to do."

"Besides...this is a part of who you are, McGee," Ziva said. "That makes it important."

"No, it doesn't. You've gotten to know me fine without knowing about this."

"Come on, Probie. Just tell us. How bad can it be?"

Tim held up the picture. "Look at this and try to answer that question, Tony."

There was an awkward silence.

"This is to what you were referring when you asked me about forgetting?" Ducky asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, perhaps if you laid out the story for us, it might help you remember something else down the road. If you were hiding it from your friends and coworkers..."

"I wasn't hiding it!" Tim interrupted. "I wasn't! Hiding implies some sort of shame or something like that. I wasn't. _I_ don't like talking about it. Not to anyone, not even to the people who know already."

"I'm sorry, Timothy. Will you tell us what happened, please?"

"You could just call Baltimore PD and ask to see the file of Levi and Nora McGee. That would tell you more than I could about the actual crime."

"Levi and Nora _McGee_?" Ziva asked. "But you said that..."

"I was adopted by my uncle...my dad's brother. His _twin_ brother. It took years before I could consistently remember that Uncle Dan wasn't my dad. Are you sure you need me to tell you? I don't even know where to start."

Tony smiled. "You said you were ten and living in Baltimore."

Tim smiled in return. "Yeah. We moved there when I was five."

"Sounds like a good place to start to me, Probie."

"What...you want to go through my very boring life before everything fell apart?"

"Highlights, McGee," Gibbs said.

"My life was boring. I was a normal little kid, a little smarter than others...and I didn't want to do my schoolwork because it was too easy; so my mom had a hard time getting me to do my homework when I started getting it, even though I could have done it with no problems. I had friends." Tim smiled at Tony. "With as much as you like to tease me about my social ineptitude, Tony, I wasn't like that before, when I was young. I was probably as social as you." He shrugged. "That changed."

"So...what happened?" Tony asked, serious.

"My parents got killed...although as far as my memory goes, I went to bed one night and woke up four days later in the hospital...somehow knowing that I'd never see them again. ...and I didn't. Even at the funeral. It was closed casket, of course. Not that it matters. Anyway, I..." Tim shrugged again, meeting Ducky's sympathetic gaze for a moment before he looked away. "...it was like someone just shut down all my higher functions. Pushed the reset button on my brain and it took about four years for it to fully reboot."

"Leave it to McGee to think like a computer."

Tim shook his head. "No...I never was really interested in computers until I'd been living with my aunt and uncle for a year or two. They got me my first one...trying to get me to do something other than have nightmares, hide in the bathtub...or curl up in a little ball on the floor of their bedroom." What little levity Tony had introduced quickly vanished. "I was a mess. Even after a year or two when I started to _realize_ that I was a mess, I still couldn't help it. All I could do was what I was told...and sometimes not even that. I can't count the number of times that Aunt Maria had to tell me to get out of the laundry hamper or get out of the bathtub or sleep in my own bed." Tim forced a laugh. "I just couldn't function even though I couldn't remember anything."

"If you can't remember anything, McGee, then how is it that you can draw this picture?"

"I don't know. All I know is that the first time I did, I freaked out, started screaming...and kept trying to draw something other than this. I couldn't. I can't draw my parents alive. They're always dead, even though I can't remember them like this."

"And they never found who killed them?" Ziva asked.

"Nope." Tim tried to smile but this time, not even a false one would come. "...I was the only suspect they ever had."

"_You_?" Tony asked, appalled.

Tim looked at Ducky. "It would explain the evidence...and my reaction...wouldn't it, Ducky."

"It could be one explanation for your inability to remember, Timothy, but only one. There are many others that could work as well or better."

"But it's one possibility."

"No way," Tony said emphatically. "No way, McGee."

"They never thought I did it on purpose. My dad collected guns. He had showed me how to use them and told me the rules for using them and for even touching them. They figured I was scared by something and accidentally shot them both out of misguided fear. I had the gun in my hand when the police found me. ...and I shot at them, emptied a clip trying to keep them away. I don't remember that either, but that's what I'm told I did."

"That doesn't mean you killed your parents," Tony insisted.

"None of that is in your file, McGee," Gibbs said.

"I was never charged, nor even listed as a suspect...but that's because of Uri...uh...Uriah Jones, the detective who found me in the bathtub. He wouldn't ever let them and he was always the most vocal opponent to the idea of me killing my own parents for any reason."

"But you found out about their suspicions, didn't you, Timothy."

"Yeah...because they decided, a year later, to ask me about what had happened, cleverly laying the groundwork for me to confess that I did it and was just trying to hide it." Tim shook his head. "I don't know how I realized what they were doing, but I freaked out about that, too, and Dad...I mean, Uncle Dan was really upset with them. Every time I had a meltdown after that, I came back to the possibility of killing my own parents. It's not a pleasant thought...and it's one I've tried to avoid thinking about."

"Not succeeding?" Tony asked.

"I was...until a few days ago."

"Why? What happened?"

"Nothing really, just..."

Gibbs leaned forward. "McGee, what happened?"

Tim looked at Gibbs and saw concern there. He sighed. He would give up all this attention if they'd let him just forget about this, but it wasn't going to happen.

"Someone started calling my family, looking for me. So I called him...and he's writing a book on unsolved murders on the East Coast."

"And your story was one he wanted?" Ziva asked.

"Yeah. ...and he thinks that I killed my parents. He wanted to get my side...and he doesn't believe that I don't remember."

"Who is this idiot?" Ziva asked. "We can change his mind for him."

"No," Tim said, having seen this coming.

"Who is he, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"No, Boss. I've taken care of it. I talked to him, threatened to sue him for libel if he printed anything like that about me. If he tries to call my family again, I can get a restraining order. It's taken care of. I don't need you to threaten him and make him think there's a story. I just want to get on with my life." He looked around at them all. "It took me _so_ long to get to a point where I could be happy, where I could...do what I wanted and not be continually worrying about what happened. I don't want some jerk screwing that up...and if you guys start making a big deal out of it, then I'll just have to think about it more than I already am. Give me a few days and I'll be fine. Really."

"Are you sure, McGee?" Tony asked.

"I'm positive. I'm not ten years old anymore. I'm not even fifteen. I know myself and I know that if I can just have a few days I'll be fine."

There were a few seconds of silence and then Gibbs skewered him with an intent look.

"When did you call this guy?"

"Two days ago, in the evening."

"So..._after _we saw the crime scene?"

"Yeah...why?"

"You were bothered by the crime scene, McGee," Tony said. "Don't even try to deny it."

"I won't. So?"

"So, are you sure that it wasn't because of a similarity to your parents' murders?"

Tim looked first at Tony and then at Gibbs. "Are you saying that you think whoever killed my parents killed–? No. No way. That's too much of a coincidence." Tim tried to scoff at it but he didn't quite succeed.

"Maybe a copycat, McGee," Ziva said. "It would not be the first time."

"Maybe not, but what are the odds that I'd be investigating someone who was killed like my parents were?"

"Not very high, but that's all the more reason to look into it."

"Well...I can't tell you what the crime scene was like...except for what I draw. In fact, if you hid that from me and waited a few minutes, I wouldn't be able to tell you what I'd drawn, not without seeing it again. You'll have to request the case file from Baltimore."

"All right. We'll do that. Ziva, call them. I don't know how many people would remember the case after 23 years, but it shouldn't be McGee who does it. DiNozzo, check with Abby on the samples she's running. She should have some results by now."

The others cleared out quickly while Tim lingered. He noticed the look Gibbs gave Ducky and assumed that it meant Ducky would chat with him.

"Timothy, would you wait for a moment?"

_Ding, ding, ding. Give the man a prize,_ Tim thought to himself. "Sure, Ducky. No, I don't remember anything more from when we started talking."

Ducky smiled. "I wasn't going to ask. This man's questions and accusations are why you spoke to me, aren't they."

"Yeah. Most of the time, I don't think about it, Ducky. I don't think about it. I don't dream about it...well, I do, but I'm not bothered by the dreams very much. I'm _happy_, Ducky. That's all I've really wanted out of life. To be happy, and I am...I don't see why I should be excited about dredging up the worst part of my life and laying it out for people to pick through."

"You said you had therapy?"

"Yes, almost daily at first, then weekly. Now, at most, it's once a month."

"And your psychiatrist never succeeded in opening up _anything_ from that time?"

"Nothing."

"What about your own reactions? You said you had meltdowns?"

"Yeah. I don't remember what I thought, but I always said the same thing over and over again, sometimes screaming it, sometimes just repeating the sentence."

"What did you say?"

"'I didn't hear anything.' What that means is beyond me. If I was there when my parents got shot, it's highly likely that I heard it. I don't know why I'd be so insistent that I didn't."

"Perhaps..."

"Perhaps a lot of things, Ducky. I've thought of them all, and none of them seem right or wrong. My brain has thoroughly blocked any memory I have of what happened. Nothing that my therapists did ever succeeded in bringing it back. The best they ever did when they tried was drive me to screaming and hiding under the table...which invariably led me to hide in the bathtub overnight. I wish I remembered...but at the same time I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

Tim picked up the picture he'd drawn and held it out. "This is bad enough, but I can handle it. What is so frightening to my mind that I can't remember what happened? If it's that bad...what could it be?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Eighteen years ago..._

Sarah woke up to the pitch black. For a few seconds, she was scared because she didn't remember where she was. Then, it came back to her. They were in a hotel in Monterey. Tomorrow, they were going to be driving up to San Francisco.

Sarah didn't like the dark. At home, even in the middle of the night there was at least one light on, but not here. She was a little scared, but she firmly told herself that she wouldn't cry and wake people up. Tim did that sometimes and everyone got scared when he cried. So she wouldn't do that. She also wouldn't wake up Mom and Dad. She was a big girl now. Seven years old and she could handle it. ...but it was _so_ dark!

_I'll go into the bathroom. Then, I can close the door and turn on the light!_

It was a good plan; so Sarah got off the little cot that served as her bed and crept carefully to the bathroom. Once inside, she quietly closed the door and turned on the light...and then jumped. There was Tim in the bathtub.

"Timmy?"

"Sarah, what are you doing in here?"

"I wanted the light on. Why are you in here? We're not at home."

"I couldn't sleep and I didn't want to wake anyone up; so I came in here."

"Can I get in the tub, too?"

"It's not very comfortable, Sarah."

"Then...why are _you_ in there?"

Tim smiled and shrugged helplessly. "I just am. Are you scared of the dark?"

Sarah thought about denying it, but this was Tim. He didn't tease her about that kind of stuff. She nodded.

"Don't you get scared of the dark?"

"No. Not the dark. I'm not scared of that."

"Then, what _are_ you scared of?"

"I don't know, Sarah. I just get scared." Tim looked at her and then looked down. After a few seconds he sighed. "I have an idea. How about you go back and get in your bed and I'll sit by you?"

"On the floor?"

"It's better than the bathtub," Tim said with a smile.

Sarah rather thought that Tim's smile wasn't quite happy enough to be real, but she _was_ tired; so having Tim sit by her would help her sleep and that was good. Tim always kept her safe.

"Okay."

"All right. We'll turn off the light and you hold my hand so we don't run into anyone while we walk across the floor."

Sarah nodded. They turned off the light, plunging the bathroom into darkness. Then, they walked softly back to Sarah's bed. Sarah got under the covers and held Tim's hand.

"I love you, Timmy."

There was no response, not for a long time, but then, softly whispered, came a reply.

"I love you, too, Sarah."

Safe and secure, Sarah closed her eyes and went right to sleep.

In the morning, Dan and Maria awoke to find Tim's bed empty and Tim sleeping on the floor beside Sarah's cot. His position looked extremely uncomfortable, and when Dan woke him up, Tim winced as he sat up...but he never complained. And throughout that day, every so often, he'd look at Sarah and smile.


	10. Chapter 10

**Cahpter 10**

_Present..._

Tim was able to pretend that he didn't know what the team was doing for a day. Gibbs had him on the phones and credit cards of their victims while Ziva made arrangements for a quick delivery of the case file from the murder of Tim's parents. When the box appeared, Tim steadfastly ignored it and soon, it vanished into some other place in the building. Still, he couldn't get what he had said out of his head and his mind kept returning to what they had suggested, that someone might have been either copying his parents' murders or else that the same person who had killed his parents was the killer here. He hated the thought and he tried not to think about it, but it wasn't working very well.

"Hey, Tim?"

Tim jumped and looked up at Abby who had materialized in front of his desk.

"Hey, Abbs. Long time, no see."

"Yeah...we were looking through the stuff from your... Tony told me."

"Yeah, I know. He said he was going to."

"You never said anything, not even to me."

"I know. I didn't want to, not even to you."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"It's from your parents' case...but it's not really about the case. Is that okay?"

"Yeah."

"Then, will you come down to my lab?"

"Sure." Tim set a search running, which hopefully would isolate any out of character behavior both in phone calls and credit statements. He didn't have much hope of anything turning up, but it was something to try at any rate.

"Thanks."

Abby seemed strange and withdrawn. Tim wondered what could be going on. He figured that the file didn't make for pleasant reading, but Abby had most definitely seen worse.

When they got down to the lab, Abby turned around and looked at him intently.

"Tim, did you ever look at this stuff?"

"No. When I was younger, there's no way they would have shown me. When I got older, even when I started working here and could conceivably make a request to see the file, I didn't want to. It's all in the past, and in some ways, not knowing, not remembering what I saw is a good thing. ...only in some ways, though...since there's obviously a part of me that does remember."

"You never told me about your parents."

"No, I didn't. We already established that."

"No, I mean...can I show you a picture...of them?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

Tim smiled. "Abby, I've been drawing pictures of my parents for the last twenty years. I can handle seeing the real thing. I did once before. ...just because I don't remember..."

Abby brought up one of the photos taken of his parents. Tim stared...he'd said he didn't mind, and in truth, he didn't, but this was worse than drawing it. Seeing the real thing...made it more real somehow.

"Are you okay, Tim?"

"Yeah," Tim said, unable to tear his eyes away.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead."

"You never told me that your parents were Goth."

Tim blinked and looked at Abby. "What?"

"Your parents. They were Goth."

"No, they weren't."

"But look, Tim! Look at what they were wearing, look at their hair!"

Tim looked again, but he shook his head.

"Abby, my parents weren't Goths. Not ever. My dad taught at a snooty private school. The neighborhood we lived in was...I don't know...but I didn't even know what Goths _were_ until much later."

Abby now looked almost distressed. "Tim...was that why you were interested in me? Because you remembered your parents like this?"

"What?" Tim actually laughed because it seemed so incredible that Abby was making this association. "What are you talking about? Abby, I told you that I don't remember this. I might as well have been seeing it for the first time...right now."

"But you said yourself that part of you remembers."

Tim put his hands on Abby's shoulders, gratefully turning away from the photo.

"Abby, if I was drawn to you because of anything it was because you are a very nice person and you're intriguing...and rather good-looking, too." Tim smiled. "It wasn't because I associated you with my dead parents."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Abby. I'm sure."

"And you're sure your parents weren't Goth?"

"I'm positive. This...is just weird. Mom and Dad never wore anything like that, and never dyed their hair."

"That means that someone did it for them." Abby looked at Tim, thinking hard. "Our victims had recently-dyed hair as well. It was black, and there was no sign of exposed roots...and it wasn't done very well."

"We could actually smell it in the bedroom a little."

Abby turned and flashed through a number of photos. Tim watched them fly by, seeing bits and pieces of a time he couldn't remember. It made him feel disoriented...a little dizzy...and just for a second, he felt as though he had been flung back in time.

"Tim? Tim? You're scaring me!"

Tim felt as though he was spinning around in circles and he grabbed at something to steady him.

It turned out to be Abby, her expression worried.

"Tim, you totally spaced out! I couldn't get you to say anything. Were you...remembering?"

Tim tried to think, tried to grasp what it was that had just happened, but it all faded away as if it had never been there in the first place, leaving the same empty space. In fact, the photo Abby had shown him only moments ago had faded almost to nothing in his memory. All he could remember was that there was dyed hair and Goth-type clothing. He couldn't bring the image to mind at all.

"No...No, Abby. I didn't remember." For some reason, that statement made him feel incredibly sad, as if he had lost his parents again by losing the memory. "I didn't remember."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dumped all this on you. I was being selfish." Abby turned off the monitor, the images of his parents vanished and Tim found they had made no impact on his mind. None at all.

"No, Abby. It was okay. It's not your fault that I can't remember. _Why_ can't I remember? I can't even remember that photo you just showed me. It's like...like it doesn't even exist in my head! Why?"

Abby hugged Tim and he let his head rest on her shoulder.

"Why, Abby?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Eighteen years ago..._

Dan and Maria exchanged disbelieving glances and then they turned the same expression on the high school counselor.

"Excuse me? Could you say that again?"

"Tim's SAT scores are very high. I think he should apply to MIT. He went to the recruiting session they held last week and I actually had one of the organizers ask me for some information about him."

"You're kidding," Dan said.

The counselor smiled. "No. Not at all. I was surprised myself, not being aware that Tim had any ambitions in that respect. I take that _you_ had no idea either?"

Maria shook her head, still in a bit of shock. "He's never said anything about what he wanted to do. We were just thinking that we should sit down with him and talk about it. I didn't even know he'd gone to that. Did you, Dan?"

Dan also shook his head. "No, I had no idea. Are you sure it's a good idea for him to...to do something so... MIT. That's...that's the big leagues. I mean, the pressure alone would be...intense. Do you really think that Tim could handle it? It's only been in the last few months that he's started...acting normal."

The counselor nodded in understanding. "It's a definite concern, I agree, but the very fact that Tim showed the initiative in going to that meeting. Not only going, but _speaking_ to someone there. I've never, not in the years I've known him, seen him show that kind of enthusiasm. It speaks to something that should be encouraged."

"But MIT is so far away...and he's only going to be sixteen when he graduates. He's doing better now, but he still goes through stages when he...he has to be with us all the time. We can't move and neither Dan nor I can go to MIT and stay there while he gets used to it. I'm just afraid that...that if he goes, if he gets accepted and goes, that he'll fall apart and then feel like he can't do anything. I don't want that for him."

"You want my recommendation?"

"Yes, please," Dan said, fervently.

"From an academic point of view, Tim is the perfect candidate to get admitted to MIT with a scholarship. He knows more about computers than the computer teacher does. He excels in the sciences. His work ethic is excellent...so long as he feels challenged. Computer skills are becoming not just an asset but essential for the rising generation. Tim's way ahead of the game in that department. He not only knows software, but he knows hardware. He knows programming languages. He's certified in repairing both hardware _and_ software. He's A+ certified. He's no genius in the arts and humanities but he's still an A student there. Academically, he'll succeed. I have no doubt about that. ...but I know that's not what worries you. What I suggest is that you sit down with him as you'd planned and have a serious talk with him about his ability to cope with being so far away, with the social pressures he'll face and what steps you can take to keep him successful in school. ...because if and when he applies to MIT, he'll get in."

"What do _you_ think? Could he do it? All of it?" Maria asked.

"I think he has the potential...and I think that if he can make there, Tim will develop in ways you've never imagined possible. I think he'll really come alive if he has the chance to get out there and...and live. It won't be easy, and it will take a lot of effort on his part and on yours. Now, this is not precisely my business, but are his therapy sessions still aiming at getting him to remember what happened?"

"Some of them."

"I think that if he goes to MIT, the goals should be changed. He won't have you there to get him through those times when he's trying to force his mind to remember something so horrifying that he's not only forgotten it but been affected by it for years. He'll need therapy still there, especially in the beginning, and it shouldn't be focused on tapping into horrific memories."

"We've been considering asking about that already."

"I think Tim needs a chance to get away from that. That's my personal opinion."

"I wish he could," Dan said.

The counselor leaned forward. "I really think he can."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

"McGee, what did you get out of the phone records?" Gibbs asked.

No response from the agent across the bullpen. Tim was sitting, resting his chin on his hand, fingers absently tapping his lips as he stared blankly at the screen in front of him.

"McGee!"

Tim looked over at him, startled.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Phone records?"

"Oh. Right." Tim took a breath, obviously collecting himself. He tapped a few keys and then shook his head. "No, Boss. There's nothing out of the ordinary here. No secret phone calls, no surprise numbers. No unexpected debits from the credit cards." He shook his head again. "There's nothing to indicate that they were involved in something strange, underhanded, sneaky or illegal."

"No sign of infidelity...in either one of them," Tony put in. "They seemed to be enjoying a healthy relationship...according to their friends."

"They were not complaining of noticing something wrong either, Gibbs," Ziva said. "It seems as though this is random."

"But it can't be simply random," Tim said. "There's too much attention paid to posing them and dyeing their hair. There would have to be some intent behind picking these people. I don't know what it is, but there has to be _something_. ...doesn't there?"

"It does look that way, but I do not know what it is."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_One year ago..._

"What do you think, Jill?" Aaron asked.

"Aaron, it's beautiful! Such nice property and the neighborhood looks so lovely. How long has this house been on the market?" Jill asked their realtor.

"About a year. The housing market has been in a slump lately, and that's been affecting house listings. The owner had to move for a job and couldn't wait for it to sell. Would you like to take a look inside?"

"Absolutely."

The three walked into the house. It wasn't large, but it was located in a nice suburb of Baltimore and since there was only the two of them, they didn't need the extra space just yet. As they walked around the ground floor, Jill felt more and more that this was a wonderful house, a lucky find for them.

"Why don't we go have a look upstairs?" the realtor suggested.

Aaron nodded and smiled, holding out his hand to Jill as they walked up the stairs. They paused on the landing and looked around and then continued up to the top.

"Three bedrooms?"

"Yes. Two smaller bedrooms, plus the master bedroom. There's only one bathroom up here, attached to the master bedroom, but with an extra door to the hallway as you see here."

They walked into the bedroom.

"It looks renovated."

"Yes, the previous owner renovated the entire bedroom and bathroom when he bought the place. You can see that he put in new tile, new shower and bathtub. All new fixtures."

"I like it. Room for two in the bathtub, Jill," Aaron said suggestively.

Jill laughed. "What about the backyard?"

"Space for a garden and there's a small patio. Let's go look."

After touring the house, Jill and Aaron were both sold on the house, but they were worried about the price.

"What's the asking price?"

"The price it's listed at is $300,000, _but_ the owner is also realistic and needs to sell the house more than he needs to turn a profit; so he's willing to negotiate."

Aaron and Jill decided to take a few days to think about it...not that there was much to think about, really. They both loved the house. It was in a good neighborhood, in a good area, and convenient to both their jobs. It was perfect. They were able to negotiate down nearly $50,000 dollars in the asking price and after a safety inspector went through the house making sure there were no defects, they signed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

_Eighteen years ago..._

Tim's bedroom door was open. When Dan and Maria peeked inside, Tim was sitting at his computer. It was a replacement for the Mac SE they'd bought him first. There was an open book beside the keyboard and Tim was typing and then looking closely at the book, leaning so far over it that his nose was almost touching the page. Then, he looked back at the monitor and began typing again. An old record player was sitting on the floor putting out soft jazz. A gift from Uri for Tim's fifteenth birthday. They had asked him if it had been too much, but he had confessed that he had pillaged his own record collection, collecting duplicates he'd amassed over the years and sent them along with an old record player he had kept in his garage. It had only cost him the shipping. The music wasn't really their kind, but it was easier to tolerate than Danny's grunge.

They knocked on the open door.

"Tim?"

Unnaturally startled, Tim spun around on his chair and then managed to smile at his reaction.

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing?"

"Homework. Government essay."

"We need to have a talk."

Tim blinked at them for a few seconds and then nodded. He turned off the monitor and turned his chair around so that he faced them both as they sat on the bed.

"Is this about MIT?"

Dan smiled. "How did you guess?"

"I figured you must have found out that I went. Did Richard tell you where I was going when I left him at the library?"

"No. No, Richard was very good at keeping your secret. The counselor at your school."

"How did Mr. Ahrenson know? I never told him."

"Apparently, you impressed one of the recruiters and they contacted him to ask about you."

Tim's eyes widened. "Really? I thought I'd been too...me, and that they wouldn't want me." His head dropped. "I just wanted to see what they would say."

"Well, you impressed them, Tim. That's nothing to be ashamed of. Why didn't you tell us about it?"

Tim's head stayed down. "I thought you'd try to tell me I shouldn't go, that it would be too hard for me."

"What do you think?"

Tim shrugged and didn't look up.

"Tim," Dan said, "be honest. Do you want to go to MIT?"

Tim nodded, still staring at the floor.

"Why didn't you tell us? Did you think you could just sneak out of the house and across the country?"

Tim smiled but still kept his head bowed.

"Tim, look at us."

Finally, Tim raised his head but he looked afraid.

"Hey, we're surprised, but I'm really happy that you have the kind of ambition, Tim," Maria said. "Do you know what you want to study?"

Tim nodded. "C-Computer Science."

"Following in the footsteps of Mr. Bill Gates?"

Tim shook his head. "No. I...I found this...this book in the...the library." Tim walked over to his drawers and pulled a book out of a pile of them. "It's about using c-computers in police work. Computer forensics. It's a new field."

"You want to be a police officer?" Dan asked, more than a little surprised.

"How long have you had this idea?" Maria asked.

"A c-couple of y-years. I..." Tim swallowed and then let it out all in a rush. "I want to find out what happened to my mom and dad! I want to know what...what h-happened and...and...wh-why I c-c-can't r-remember! I w-w-want them...to...to...be at p-p-peace."

"Oh, Tim." Maria pulled Tim into a hug. "You don't have to do that."

"Tim, do you think that I knew your dad pretty well?" Dan asked.

Tim sniffed and nodded.

"Then, let me tell you something: Levi would never require that of you."

"B-But p-people say...say that..."

"People are stupid," Dan said firmly. "Anyone who tries to tell you that your parents aren't at peace right now are just idiots. Wherever they are, your mom and dad's only sorrow is probably that they couldn't be there for you. They were good people in this life and I don't see why that should change in death. So..." Dan took a breath to calm himself down a little. "So, Tim, if this is what you want, then fine, but don't do it because you think you have to."

Tim dropped his eyes again. Maria met Dan's eyes and smiled before squeezing Tim's shoulders encouragingly.

"Do you know what, Tim? The great thing about college is that you have the chance to figure out just what you want to do with your life. You don't have to know right away. Do you want to apply to go to MIT?"

A mute nod.

"Okay. Then, we need to talk about a few things."

"I haven't been accepted yet," Tim whispered.

"Mr. Ahrenson says that you will be when you apply," Dan said. "So we should talk about it now."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"What do we need to talk about?"

"What will happen when you go."

"Why?"

"Come on, Tim. Don't hide your face from us."

Tim lifted his head, tentatively smiling at them.

"Have you thought about what might happen when you go? You'll be away from us, Tim," Maria said. "You'll only be able to come home a couple of times a year. Do you think you can handle that separation?"

Tim was quiet for a few minutes, thinking about it. "I don't know," he said finally. "I don't know...but I want...want to try. Is that okay?"

"Of course," Dan said. "So...you tell us. What will you need to be able to go, to have fun and be successful at MIT?"

"I'll...I'll need someone to talk to...a new therapist?"

"Yes. We can probably get recommendations on that. You will definitely still need help there."

"I'll need to get a scholarship to go."

"Yes. Mr. Ahrenson can help with that."

Tim looked at Dan. "I need to be able to...to get to a phone...so I can call you if I need to."

Dan looked at Tim in surprise. "Will that be enough?"

"I... It's worse...after my nightmares. Can I call...when I have them? Then...then I could talk to you...and know that...that it's okay."

"And that would be enough?"

"I th-think so." Tim took a deep breath. "I...won't know unless I try. Right? And I...I need to...to d-d-do more normal things." He bit his lip. "I used to be happy. I remember being happy all the time and having fun. I can...can be like that, again...can't I?"

"Of course. That's what we want for you, Tim," Maria said. "If you think going to MIT will help, then we'll do what we can to get you there."

"Dad? ...uh...Uncle Dan? That's okay?"

"Absolutely."

Tim looked at them both and then mustered up one of his rare smiles.

"Can I finish my homework now?"

Dan laughed. "Go ahead, Tim."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

"Okay...so I finished doing a comparison of the crime scene photos," Abby said, looking at Tim with some worry.

"Go on, Abbs. I'm fine."

"Okay...so...there are some major similarities. I'm sorry, Tim."

"Abby, stop apologizing," Gibbs said, impatiently.

"What are they, Abby?" Tim asked, little relishing this meeting, but knowing that putting it off wouldn't help him feel any better about it.

"Okay...first, there's the dyed hair. Both...Tim's parents and our couple had their hair recently dyed. Black. It wasn't a well-done job. Nothing much was made of their hair, at least not in the official file. Did they ever ask you, Tim?"

Tim shook his head. "No. I couldn't remember anything; so the only time they asked me any questions was when I was their chosen suspect."

Abby nodded, biting her lip for a moment before going on.

"Well, the pictures show that the dye job was cheap and quick. They did store some hair samples from both of the McGees. The dye was cheap, matte black. Not meant to look good."

"Okay, then, why do it?" Tony asked. "What's the point of dyeing their hair?"

"I don't know."

Irresistibly, it seemed, everyone's eyes moved to Tim.

"I told you. I don't know," he said, a bit testily. "I don't remember, okay?"

"Sorry, Probie."

"Go on, Abby," Ziva said, breaking the silence.

"Okay. The other big thing is the way they were killed."

"Why?" Tim asked. "They aren't in the same positions. They weren't shot in the same place." He paused and tried to bring his parents' murder to mind. He had said the words but now he wasn't sure. "Were they? They weren't, right?" Sighing in frustration before anyone else could answer, Tim pulled out one of his many drawings and looked at it. "No. They weren't." He was feeling more and more upset by the fact that he couldn't remember...especially now, when it seemed likely that there was some sort of connection. "So...why is that a big deal?"

"The killer used the same caliber gun. Not the _exact_ same gun, the striations are different, but the same make, same bullets. They were both moved after they died and..." Abby hesitated for a few seconds and then brought up photos of both crime scenes. Tim's dead parents, their decomposing bodies were visible on the left, and the current victims, Glenn and Irene Campbell, on the right. "...the rooms don't have the exact same layout...but...look."

Ziva caught it first. "They are in the same place on the floor. Between the bed and the door to the bathroom."

Abby nodded. "Positioned pretty carefully. It really looks like someone is copying."

"But they're _not_ copying," Tim said. "Yes, some pieces are the same, but..." Tim stared at the two photos side by side. "...but they're not in the same position. Why position them holding each other with the gun in between? That's not the same. Look! My..." No one had ever forced him to look at the crime scene photos. In fact, it had been something he had _never_ seen. No one had _wanted_ him to look at them...and he didn't want to see them either. Having to see them now, having to evaluate them. Tim had never realized just how difficult it would be for him to do. He had thought that, having basically accepted his parents' deaths, having understood that it was something he couldn't remember...he had thought it would be easier than this. They had died more than twenty years ago. This shouldn't be a problem for him.

But it was.

Tim swallowed. "Excuse me." He turned around and walked out of the lab as quickly as he could. In the hall, he stopped and went through his breathing exercises, the ones that helped him calm down. He felt the images fade from his memory, although he could now remember the position his parents were in on the floor. No details. Just them both on their backs...with their dyed hair. After a couple of minutes, he realized that he could still recall _something_ that he had seen. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what had happened.

...but no. There was nothing. What he was remembering was merely the photograph. It wasn't what he had seen himself. Nothing more than the photograph. Frustrated, Tim slid down the wall to the floor and punched the floor with one fist.

"Why?" he asked.

The door opened and Tim looked over to see Ziva looking at him with some concern.

"McGee, are you all right?"

Tim nodded and sighed. "I am. I... Why can't I remember, Ziva? If I try really hard...I can remember the photo I just saw in there...but I can't remember what I saw back then. What did I see?"

Ziva crouched down in front of him.

"I cannot say what you saw, McGee, but that you still do not remember tells me that perhaps it is not something you _should_ remember. Perhaps you forgot it for a good reason."

"And yet...I still have nightmares sometimes. There's this case now. If I could tell people what I saw, maybe we'd know who did this one. ...but I can't remember. I can't remember! ...and I hate that I can't. I've always hated it...but until this happened, I thought I'd at least accepted it."

"But you have not?"

"I guess not."

Ziva put her hand on his shoulder. "If it is right for you to remember, you will remember."

"Why isn't right now?"

Ziva smiled. "I do not know that, but I do not think that sitting on the floor will help you remember."

Tim smiled. "You're right. It probably won't."

"Gibbs would like us to go back to Quantico."

"Why?"

"If this is someone who has attempted to recreate the murder of your parents, it is possible that we missed something. He would like us to go back over the crime scene."

Tim stood up and took a breath. "And he's sending me because of what just happened in there, right?"

"More than likely...but it is still your job, and it seems as though you do not want to be seeing what your mind has forgotten."

"That's true. There's probably nothing enjoyable about becoming intimately acquainted with the way my parents looked after being dead for four days."

"Seeing those you love dead is never a pleasant task, McGee, not for any reason. Shall we go?"

Tim nodded. "Yeah. Sure. Let's go."

"As we go, you can tell me about your parents."

Tim looked at her as she pushed the elevator button.

"Why?"

Ziva turned and faced him.

"Because they are a part of you. You are my friend, McGee. I would like to know about my friends."

Tim smiled a little wistfully and took another deep breath. "Okay...but remember, these are memories from a long time ago. ...if my parents had lived, I might remember them differently."

"More than likely, but that does not make the memories you have less valuable."

"No, it doesn't."

"Then, tell me about them."

Tim gave in to Ziva's kind cajoling and found himself talking about his memories of his parents for the first time in years.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ellis Shands paced back and forth, waiting. He was not a patient man, and this was becoming intolerable. A car pulled up to the house across the street. He stopped his pacing and watched.

No calls. No admissions. Nothing. It was intolerable. It was patently obvious that he intended to continue pretending.

The man in the car looked back over his shoulder for a moment and Ellis opened his car door and got in. As he began to drive away, he stole a glance and found that the man had already gone back to his work.

_Fine. If you won't come clean, then I'll make you come clean. No more hiding the truth._

Elvis Presley had been right.

'Truth is like the sun. You can shut it out for a time, but it ain't goin' away.'

The truth wouldn't go away and neither would he.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

_Seventeen years ago..._

Tim's preparations to apply to attend MIT ended up taking a lot of time. He spent hours practicing interviews with Mr. Ahrenson. He found every single possible scholarship for which he qualified. Dan and Maria attended a group session with his current therapist, getting recommendations for someone he could begin seeing when he arrived at MIT. At the same time, Danny was filling out numerous applications for UCSD, UCLA, the University of Michigan, and Urbana-Champaign. He claimed to be wanting to try them out, not knowing just what he was going to do. Tim tried to remember that Danny was nervous about things, too. He tried to make sure that he didn't ask for too much from Dan and Maria. To his credit, Danny actually noticed Tim's efforts and it went a long way to assuaging any resentment he might have felt at how much help Tim needed, how much more intensive his preparations were.

Finally, after months of work and stress, the final application had been sent, the final interview given...and both seniors could take a breath...and wait for notification of acceptance or rejection.

It was early Saturday evening when Danny realized that he hadn't seen any sign of Tim for a day or two. It wasn't strange. Tim tended to sequester himself on the best of days, but they were both in a situation where they didn't have anything they needed to do. Tim always had his homework done, and because of his interest in getting into a good university, Danny had been working much harder this year himself.

Suddenly, he remembered what day it was...and he had no doubt that Tim had remembered as well. Quickly, he ran up the stairs to Tim's bedroom and knocked on the door. There was no answer, but Danny opened it anyway. Tim was sitting on his bed, rocking back and forth, his eyes wide open and vacant.

"Hey, Tim?"

Silence. This was an improvement on his past reactions but still...Danny didn't want to see it happen.

"Tim." He put a hesitant hand on Tim's shoulder.

"I didn't hear anything."

"Tim, what does that mean?"

No answer.

"Hey, Tim!" He shook Tim gently.

Tim jumped and looked at him. "I didn't hear anything!"

"It's all right. I remembered what day it was, Tim. Sorry about that."

"Aunt Maria says I shouldn't focus on today. She says I should focus on happier days...but no matter what day it is...they'll still be gone. They won't come back and I can't remember."

"Sitting here won't help either, though, right?"

"I guess not."

"So...come with me!" Danny said and smiled mischievously.

"Where?"

"It's a surprise!"

"Danny..."

"What?"

"Your friends don't like me."

Danny grinned. "Did I say anything about my friends? I don't think I did. Just come on!"

"Why can't you tell me where we're going?"

"Because you'll think it's stupid."

Tim looked at him for a long moment and then looked around his room, the place where he hid when things were too much for him. Danny was ignoring the pieces of paper on the floor. He knew what they were and why they were there. It didn't need comment. Not anymore.

"I need my shoes."

"So put 'em on!"

Tim finally smiled. "Okay."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

"...and Dad showed me how you can start a fire with a magnifying glass out on the driveway," Tim finished his story as they got out of the car in Quantico. "It seems silly now, but at the time, I thought he was magic. He didn't have to use a match!"

Ziva laughed.

"I think everyone must have magic parents when they are young."

"You're probably right," Tim said and looked back over his shoulder. There was a man watching them across the street. He shrugged off the strange feeling as the man got in his car and drove away. "Dad was sometimes busy at school. I remember once he came home really late and he was upset. I can't tell you what it was about, but some of his students did something stupid and he was angry at how they were being punished...or something. That night, he didn't do anything with me. I could tell he was angry, but I wasn't sure why; so I kind of hid upstairs and went to bed while Mom was talking to him in the study. He came up and I was still awake. He apologized for getting mad, even if it wasn't at me." Tim laughed a little.

"What?"

Tim grabbed his bag and they walked into the house. "Remember when I said that my parents raised me to be a gentleman?"

"And mine a killer?"

"Yes. My dad...that night, he said that he was ashamed of himself because he wanted me to learn to be a gentleman and he wasn't acting like one."

"How old were you?"

"Oh...nine, maybe ten by that time."

"McGee..."

"Yeah?"

"Did you ever lie to us...about your parents?"

"I guess it depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you consider me not bothering to differentiate between my mom and dad and my aunt and uncle lying. In the eyes of the law, they're both my parents. Aunt Maria and Uncle Dad..._Dan_ officially adopted me."

"You still confuse them?"

Tim flushed and walked up the stairs, knowing that Ziva was right behind him, waiting for an answer.

"Sort of. My dad and Uncle Dan were identical twins. They...They looked exactly alike and I couldn't keep it straight in my head for a while. Consciously, I know who is who, but...I guess I still want to call Uncle Dan my dad. ...and I could, but I don't want to."

"Because you do not wish to forget your own parents?"

"No, that's not why. It's hard to explain." Tim looked around the bedroom. "Let's see what we can find, all right?"

For whatever reason, Ziva didn't push. Instead, she nodded and let them get to work. Tim was grateful. This was not the time to bring up familial difficulties. It was the time to try and track down a murderer.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Seventeen years ago..._

Danny dragged Tim out of the house and down the street...to the playground.

"What are we doing here?"

"You and me, Tim, we've been taking life too seriously. We need to swing."

"Swing? We're too old for that."

"Exactly."

"Exactly?"

"Yep. We're too old for it, but if we do it because we want to, then it's just silly fun."

Tim looked at him almost quizzically.

"Come on, Tim. I can't remember you goofing off once, not in the six years you've been with us. You need to goof off once before you go off to MIT and be serious."

"I haven't been accepted yet."

"You will be and we both know it."

Tim shrugged, and Danny walked over to the swing set. He gave Tim a daring look and then hopped on one of the swings.

"Come on, Tim. I'll bet I can swing higher than you can!"

"Danny."

"What?"

"I...have...homework!"

"You weren't doing it and I'll bet you've already done everything that's due for the whole year. So...that's not going to fly as an excuse. Come on!" Danny pumped higher and higher while Tim just stared at him. Finally, he slowed to a stop. "Tim...can't you just have fun without thinking about it?"

"I...don't know how."

"Sure you do. I remember you from before. You had fun then. Of course, you were my younger cousin and I was too cool to hang out with an eight-year-old."

"And you're not now?"

"Nope. Come and try to have fun, Tim. I dare ya."

Danny felt a thrill of triumph when Tim finally walked over to the swing and sat down, almost tentatively.

"Now, swing!"

He kicked off the ground and began pumping again.

"You don't forget how to do this, Tim! It's like riding a bike! You can't forget!"

Tim began to swing back and forth. At first, it was rather half-hearted at best, but after a few minutes, he was pumping more enthusiastically.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Higher and higher.

"I can go higher than you!" Danny called.

Tim made use of his longer legs to propel him higher by kicking off the ground.

"Hey! That's cheating!"

"You never said that I couldn't touch the ground," Tim retorted and then, let loose a sound Danny had never heard from him.

Tim laughed, not a hesitant, fearful laugh, but a true burst of laughter denoting happiness, humor. Danny felt as though he had done something amazing. His adoptive brother had laughed...and he, Danny McGee, had helped him do it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

"Well, Duck?"

Ducky looked up from the files he was comparing.

"There are details in this file I don't think Timothy has ever been told, Jethro."

"Like what?"

"Nora McGee was two months pregnant at the time of her death."

Gibbs' brain stuttered to an abrupt halt. "What?"

"She was pregnant. I'm would wager that Timothy has never known that. More was lost than even he knew."

"You going to tell him?"

"I see no reason to at this point."

"Good. What about the case?"

Ducky nodded. "Timothy is correct about some things, Jethro. While I find it implausible that this case is completely unrelated, it is _not_ the same...and more than likely that is intentional."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because of the places where it's inaccurate. The same caliber of weapon was used in both murders. The murder took place in the bedroom, although all the bodies were moved after they were shot. This person dyed their hair as it was in the case of Levi and Nora McGee, but he intentionally posed them in each other's arms, with the gun between them. _That _is a statement, not merely copying."

"A statement of what?"

"I don't know. It depends on what the killer's connection to the Campbells is. Does he know them personally? There is a personal touch here, but is it because of the Campbells or because of the McGees? Whatever the case, our killer is sending a message to whomever investigates the crime. To _us_ in point of fact."

"What if the message is supposed to be for McGee?"

"If the Campbells were killed to get Timothy to investigate? I find that unlikely...but a definite possibility."

"Well?"

"I don't know," Ducky admitted. He pulled out the crime scene photos from their current case. "The weapon has been placed between them and they were both shot in the heart, the seat of love and emotion. They were posed embracing each other but with the gun between them. Death has separated them. Murder has created a barrier between them. Love lost because of violence? Much depends on whether this crime was committed because of the Campbells or because of the McGees. I'm afraid I don't have enough information at the moment to be conclusive."

"Do you think this is about McGee?"

"I'm afraid that it looks as though it is, and that is bad enough."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Seventeen years ago..._

After swinging for a while, Tim and Danny tried out the other toys on the playground, from the old teeter-totters to the slides, even the tetherball. Then, it was full dark and they headed back toward home before their parents could start worrying.

"Thanks, Danny."

"I should be thanking you for not making me look stupid."

A rare mischievous smile crossed Tim's lips. "I couldn't do that...only you can make you look stupid."

"You've been having too much therapy, Tim."

Tim's smile didn't disappear. "Not my fault. Danny?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you want to do?"

"Go home."

"No...I mean in school."

"Graduate?"

"I'm serious, Danny."

"You usually are."

"What do you want to study?"

"It'll be all generals to start out."

"But you know already, don't you," Tim pressed. "You already know what you want to study. You aren't telling, but you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"What?"

"It's a surprise," Danny said. "I'd rather talk about the fact that it's your birthday in two weeks and I know what you're going to be getting from Mom and Dad."

"What?"

"You're going to get a car, just like me."

Tim wasn't as excited as Danny had expected.

"I don't...really go places, Danny. I don't _need_ a car."

"Sure you do. You're going to be sixteen! You've passed driver's ed."

"But I don't... A car is expensive."

"Hey, is _my_ car a Rolls Royce? Of course it isn't. It's a cheap car they got a deal on. Sure, we don't need a car _here_ on base, but when we go to college, we'll want to have a car to drive."

"You really think they'll give me a car?"

"Totally. Then, we can freak Mom out by pretending to race."

"What are you going to study, Danny?"

"I'll tell you after we graduate."

"Why are you hiding it?"

"Because." Danny grinned and kept walking.

"Danny?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I'll ever remember?"

"If you need to, probably."

"But if I knew what happened...they could find out who killed my parents. Isn't that important?"

"I don't know. Is it?"

Tim sighed and looked at the house as they approached it. "I don't know. Maybe if I remembered, then I'd stop being so weird."

Danny could sense the shift toward dour topics. He put a casual arm across Tim's shoulders.

"Nah. You're just weird, Tim. That's not going to change. Anyone who knows computers as well as you do is weird."

"People know them better than I do."

"And they're weird. I don't care how rich Bill Gates and Steve Jobs are. They're still weird."

Tim laughed. "Okay."

"So don't worry about that. Weird people can still get rich."

"I don't care about being rich."

"What do you want then?"

Tim looked at Danny and then back at the house. "I want to be happy when I wake up in the morning."

Then, he walked ahead of Danny and went into the house.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Everything was ready. Ellis watched with a smile. Collateral damage. Unfortunate, but it looked like it would be necessary.

Tim McGee would get one more chance and then he'd be _forced_ to tell what he knew.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Two days passed. Two days of patience. Two days of watching and waiting. Then, finally...

"Hey, Lauren!"

"Hey, Jill. What's up?"

"Would you mind getting our mail and newspaper next week?"

"Where are you two going this time?"

Jill smiled. "Nothing exotic. We can't afford to go abroad this year, but we both have vacation time we'd like to use. We're just going to drive up the coast, spend a few days in New York City, stuff like that. We're not expecting anything big, but we'd rather not have the papers build up on the porch and stuff like that."

"Sure thing. You want us to put it inside?"

Jill shook her head. "No, if you don't mind piling it up in your house, that would be great."

"Not a problem."

An old man walked ambled down the sidewalk and _hmmphed_ at the two women, not responding to the friendly greeting. They watched him go and then resumed their conversation.

"Bart Winters has given us strange looks ever since we moved in," Jill said. "It gives me the creeps."

"Ah, he's a weird old guy," Lauren said, smiling tolerantly. "He's been in this neighborhood for forever."

"I'm not saying he has to leave, but he always makes me feel like I've somehow intruded on his territory."

"He's never been like that for us, but we've been here about ten years."

"I try to be friendly, but nothing seems to work."

"I don't know what to tell you," Lauren said.

"Yeah, I know. It's the only downside to living in this neighborhood...besides the fact that I feel like some people resent Aaron and I for not having kids."

Lauren laughed. "Oh, come on."

"I'm serious!"

"They're just jealous that you guys get to travel so much."

"We're leaving in a couple of days."

"I'll get your mail and your paper."

"Thanks. I'll bet the laundry's done. It's my turn to do the laundry this week."

"Have fun!"

"Yeah, sure."

The two women separated and headed to their respective homes.

Perfect.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Seventeen years ago..._

It would cost more to fix the car than it had to buy it in the first place. Tim was in the base hospital in traction and would be for a while. Dan and Maria were less worried about the cost than about what this might do to Tim's state of mind. He'd been doing a lot better, helped to a large degree by Danny and his willingness to talk to Tim rather than dismiss or ignore him. Now, they were waiting for him to wake up...to see how badly he would be taking the accident, the loss of his new car.

The first few days were bad. No question. Tim was afraid. He was confused, and he didn't want to be left alone...and it was Dan he wanted there. Only Dan. Then, Maria had the idea to ask Danny to get Tim's homework from school and see if they could get him working on that.

It worked. When Danny came in, loaded down with all Tim's books, Tim's face actually lit up and he reached out for them as if they were a lifeline. He then promptly ignored everyone and everything except for his calculus and his chemistry and his physics. He didn't care about anything, not even his broken leg. In fact, the intensity he turned on his work was a bit frightening. By the time he'd been in the hospital for two weeks, he was not only caught up on his homework, he was getting ahead, even asking for extra assignments. While it was better than his abject terror, it was getting worrisome. So, one day, the whole family came to see him to try and get Tim to a happy medium between real life and schoolwork.

"Timmy, how much longer do you have to have all this stuff on you?" Sarah asked. "Isn't it uncomfortable?"

"Yeah, it is, but it's making me better," Tim said. "I think."

"It shouldn't be for too much longer, Tim," Dan said. "Then, you can be back home and back to school. We can see about fixing the car."

Tim shook his head quickly. "No. I don't want it. It will cost too much and I don't want to drive."

They didn't push the issue right now. There was time enough for that, and the truth of the matter was that they couldn't afford to fix the car right now anyway. They could tap into the money Tim had inherited from his parents and from the sale of the house, but they wanted to save that for important things...like where his scholarship didn't quite cover everything, and if Tim himself wasn't interested in driving, it would be a waste of the thousands of dollars the repair would cost.

"Okay, Tim," Maria said, locking eyes with Danny who was opening his mouth to protest. She shook her head firmly.

They all stayed for about an hour, playing with Tim's bed as much as was safe to do. Richard had brought some card games and they played those for a while. But there was school the next morning and so after that, they had to leave.

"Hey, Mom, I'm going to stay for a bit longer, okay?" Danny asked.

"Sure, Danny."

"I can walk. It's not far."

"All right."

Sarah leaned over and kissed Tim on the cheek and then hugged him. "Bye, Tim. I miss you at home!"

"Bye, Sarah. I miss being home."

"When you get a cast, will you let me sign it?"

"Absolutely."

"Great!"

"I'll draw a tank on it," Richard promised. "I'm getting good at them now."

"A son of mine, wanting to draw tanks," Dan said, melodramatically. "What about battleships? Aircraft carriers?"

"Ships are boring, Dad," Richard declared. "A tank is really cool! I'll even put people in it, Tim."

"Thanks."

"Don't stay too late, Danny," Maria said.

"I won't, Mom."

After they left, Tim at the contraption currently keeping his leg stable while it healed.

"You don't want to drive?" Danny asked.

"No. Never again."

"You'll have to drive sometime."

"Why?"

"Because you told me that you wanted to be a detective. They have to be able to drive; so you'll have to drive."

"Maybe I won't be."

"Why not?" Danny asked.

"Maybe I can't."

"You can."

"I couldn't stop the accident."

"No one could have."

"If I hadn't looked away."

"I'll bet it wouldn't have made a difference."

"What if it would have?"

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I say something mean?"

"Sure. You've never asked permission before." Tim smiled a little.

"Well, I mean it nicely but it's kind of mean."

"Okay."

"Knock it off."

Tim looked at him, startled into a normal reaction.

"What?"

"Knock it off. You can't keep making everything into a way that you messed up. You can't because it's...it's _selfish_! You're making everything about you and that's wrong! So knock it off! You made a mistake looking away from the road but it was a mistake anyone might have made; so stop beating yourself up about it!"

Danny was surprised to see a small smile on Tim's face.

"What's so funny?"

"I thought you were going to tell me how stupid I am."

Danny laughed at the irony.

"Danny?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you going to study?"

"I'll tell you after graduation."

"Tell me now. Please?"

"Why?"

"Give me something else to think about."

"You promise you won't tell?"

"Why don't you want anyone to know?"

"Because."

"Okay. I won't tell."

Tim actually looked interested.

"Psychology."

Tim was silent, digesting the information and then he looked at Danny once more.

"Cool. Will you promise me something?"

"What?"

"When you're a shrink, promise that you won't psychoanalyze me. I get enough of that as it is."

Danny laughed. "It's a deal. You stop blaming yourself and I won't shrink your head."

Tim laughed, too. "Okay."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

"Okay, so you guys actually got something new," Abby said, grinning.

"We did?" Ziva asked.

"Wow," Tim said. "I thought it was just a ploy to get me out of the way."

_Thwack!_

"What is it, Abbs?" Gibbs asked.

"A fingerprint! It was from the ones you lifted off the closet."

"Not belonging to the Campbells?" Tony asked.

"Nope!"

"Then, who?"

"Hank Peterson!"

"Who is that?"

Now Abby's triumphant face fell a little bit. "Well...I'm not quite sure."

"What do you mean?" Ziva asked. "You have his name...from his fingerprints."

"Yeah, but he hasn't been on the grid for years, like ten years. The last time we saw him was when he was disbarred."

"For what?" Tim asked, looking at the mug shot on the screen.

"He broke lawyer-client confidentiality by revealing info about one of his clients...indirectly leading to his client's death. He was arrested and charged but he pleaded no contest and didn't serve any time. After that, he just disappears. He wasn't married. No kids. He sold his apartment, his car, closed all his bank accounts and just vanished."

"Name change?" Tony asked.

"Probably, but not legally and it's hard to pick up someone who doesn't leave a trail."

"Everyone leaves a trail. No one is perfect," Gibbs said. "Find him."

"On it, Boss!"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim's phone rang as he was escaping from NCIS. They'd had no success over the last couple of days in finding Hank Peterson. He had abandoned everything about his identity. If he had resurfaced under a different name, he'd been very thorough in cutting off all ties to his past self.

Tim answered the phone, not even glancing at the display.

"McGee."

"_Hello, Agent McGee."_

"Who is this?" Tim asked. The voice sounded familiar but he couldn't place it.

"_I'm getting tired of your pretense of ignorance."_

"Who are you?"

"_I'm disappointed in you, Agent McGee. You pretend you don't remember the murder of your own parents and you pretend you don't remember me?"_

"Ellis Shands? The writer?"

"_Good for you. I'm giving you one more chance to tell me your side of the story. The evidence is pretty clear."_

"How did you get my number?"

"_Give me a little credit. I'm not stupid! Even if you're treating me that way. The 'I don't remember' excuse is one of the oldest in the book. It rarely works and it certainly doesn't hold water with me."_

"You know who I am and what I do."

"_My research is very thorough."_

"Then, why did you pretend you didn't?"

"_That's for me to know and you to find out."_

"Leave me alone," Tim said firmly. "I've said everything I have to say to you. What I said before still stands. You try to publish something saying that I killed my parents and I'll sue. I have nothing more to say. Don't call this number again." He hung up his phone and got in his car. He felt very angry...but a little worried as well. This guy had found him, his phone number _and_ knew what his job was. Tim was careful about protecting those things, and even with his care, he had been found by some random psycho. He thought about Amanda and how she had known all about him.

_But she was a hired killer, not really after me. I was just a means to an end. This is different._ Tim started his car even as his mind relentlessly continued on the same track. _If it's personal, then it's not only different...it's worse._

As he drove away, he decided that he'd tell Gibbs about the new call in the morning. If Shands went any further than he'd already gone, this could be serious.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Sixteen years ago..._

Tim was accepted to MIT, of course, and Danny was accepted to the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor. Both were awarded scholarships, not enough to cover everything, but enough to cover quite a lot of the costs. It was then that Dan and Maria sat Tim down and told him about the money he had available. The money his parents had left him both from their wills and from the life insurance policies they had bought. It was quite a tidy sum, a sum which had increased with some sound investing. None of it had been touched, waiting for the time when Tim would really need it.

"That's...a lot of money," Tim said.

Dan nodded, seeing the uncertainty on Tim's face about this news. Maybe they should have talked about it before, but it just had never seemed like an appropriate time.

"Yes. It's enough to cover what your scholarship won't."

"Wow. They...they had life insurance."

"Yes, and it had a clause for accidental death."

"Accidental?" Tim repeated.

"That includes...murder, Tim."

Tim nodded. "Why didn't you use it for stuff I needed before?"

"Because that's not what the money was for. It's for you. We don't expect our children to pay for the cost of bringing them up," Dan said firmly. "You worked during the summer, just like Danny did. That's expected, but that's not our money to use."

"But it's mine? Now?"

"Yes. We're the trustees until you're twenty-one, but it's your money."

"I can do what I want with it?"

"Yes."

Tim bit his lip and looked around at the house where he had spent the last six years of his life. It wasn't large. There was _enough_ space, but they could have used the money he had inherited for more. He wouldn't have complained even if he had known about it. He stood up and with only a slight limp, he lurched forward and hugged them both tightly.

"Can I share it?"

"Of course."

"Can I give some of it to Danny? For school?"

"You don't have to do that, Tim."

"I want to. I want to do that. I need to."

"You don't owe us anything," Dan said. "You're family."

Tim nodded. "Family...and family helps each other out. You've...helped me...a lot. I want to help you. I want to help Danny."

"Are you sure, Tim?"

"Yes. I want to."

Maria couldn't hold back the tears. "Okay. Why don't we go and tell your brother the news?"

Danny was shocked by the news that his adopted brother was not only rolling in the dough but that he wanted to share the wealth. It didn't seem right and he tried to protest, but Tim insisted, a kind of dogged resistance that wouldn't be worn down.

In the end, they sat down together and figured out how much money both boys would need to supplement the scholarships they'd earned. By the end of the school year, all the arrangements had been made. Graduation came and went. It seemed anticlimactic after everything that had happened. Tim was fully recovered from his accident and marched with the class. Luckily, although he was still gangly, he was tall enough that he didn't stand out as obviously younger.

It was a bittersweet moment at the end of the summer when the two brothers went their separate ways: Tim to Massachusetts and Danny to Michigan. Both had the chance to develop on their own. Free and independent in a way they'd never been before.

They both had a chance to see what life was like.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

_Fifteen years ago..._

"Can I lie?" Tim asked his therapist.

"To whom and about what?"

"Whenever we talk about families at school, with my classmates, with my friends...anyone... I say that I live with my aunt and uncle. Then, they ask why. Then, I tell them that my parents died. Then, they want to know how." Tim sighed. "I don't want to have to explain to every person I meet that my parents were murdered and that I don't remember what happened. I don't...I don't like remembering that. I can't forget that it happened, but I hate having to explain it. Can I lie?"

"Tim, you can do whatever you want. What is it that you want to say instead?"

Tim sat down on the chair. "I want to say...nothing. I want to pretend that it was my parents until I was ten and it was my parents after I was ten. Technically, that's true. In the eyes of the law, I have parents right now. I just don't want to tell anyone that my parents died. We don't go into a lot of detail. It would be easy just to say that my parents are in San Diego. No one would think twice about it."

"You've clearly thought this through, Tim. Why do you need to ask me?"

"Is it wrong?" Tim asked. "I'm not ashamed. Really. I'm not. I'm not ashamed of them. I just don't like the questions."

"Tim, I don't think you're ashamed. ...do _you_?"

"I don't know. Nothing anyone has done has made me remember. So...can't I just forget it?"

"Do you think you can?"

"No. ...but I don't think that having people hounding me for information is going to help."

"You're probably right."

"Is it okay that I want to lie?"

"Yes, Tim. You may find that there are people you want to tell, and you can. You don't _have _to keep it a secret, but if you want to keep it a secret for now, that is completely up to you."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Ellis sat in his car and finished off his sandwich. It wasn't amazing, but it was enough. He just needed to be patient. Tim McGee had given up his last chance. Now, Ellis was going to take matters into his own hands. He smiled.

"Any minute now."

There it was. The Porsche that this "innocent man" drove.

Ellis opened his own car door and got out.

Ready for action.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Fourteen years ago..._

The healing they'd all hoped for, the complete resurgence of Tim's personality really began after a year or two of college. He came home on vacations excited about what he was learning, eager to share experiences he'd had. Finally, nine years after his parents' murders, Tim was acting like a healthy and happy teen. Of course, he wasn't going to be a teen for much longer and he still acted a bit younger than he actually was, but Dan and Maria were so glad to see Tim without that shadow they'd come to associate with him that they didn't mind if Tim acted a bit childishly sometimes. While Danny came home from college acting more mature, it seemed as though Tim was getting younger.

They all knew at least one of the reasons for this change. Tim had confessed that he was covering up the fact that his parents had been killed while he was at college. That meant that no one was asking him awkward questions. No one treated him any differently. He was just another student, younger, yes, but just another geek. As he began his last year of college, Dan began to worry that Tim just wasn't ready to go out into the world and get a job, even in the booming computer industry. Then, there was Tim's ambition of being a detective, something he hadn't brought up in a while. A twenty-year-old police officer? It wasn't what they hoped for him, but they didn't say it, not to anyone, least of all to Tim.

One day, during the summer before his final undergraduate year, Tim and Sarah could be heard giggling as he told her about the various "hacks" he'd participated in while at MIT, one of the best being when he had helped put a piano on top of the Great Dome and a complete shower stall in a public area of campus. Sarah loved it and was talking about how she hoped that when she went to college she could do things like that as well.

Everything seemed normal until Maria went upstairs to put the laundry away...

...and found Tim standing in her bathroom, staring at the bathtub. He wasn't acting afraid as he had in the past. He was just standing there, occasionally, touching the shower curtain, sometimes crouching down the stroke the side of the tub. He hadn't shown any inclination to return to those behaviors in years, that he was now worried her.

"Tim?"

He didn't jump.

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing?"

"Thinking."

No lighthearted feeling. Just a confused young man.

"About what?"

"Can't you guess?"

"Not often. You have the power to surprise, Tim."

"I have nightmares."

"I know."

"No, I still have nightmares...but sometimes...they're different now."

"What are they?"

Tim turned around. "Sometimes, it's Uncle Dan. Sometimes...he's the one who's dead. Sometimes, both are dead. Sometimes, they're the same person...and they're dead. ...but I never see them dead. It's all..." Tim took a deep breath, trying to hold back tears. "...all dark shadows and...and stuff that doesn't make sense. ...but they're dead. Why can't I remember?"

Maria set her laundry basket on the floor and then took Tim by the arm and led him to the bed. They sat down.

"Tim, this is...old news. Why you can't remember...that's something no one can say."

"I want to be...normal...like the people at school _think_ I am," Tim said earnestly. "...but I'm not."

"You know what, Tim? You're never going to be normal," Maria said and smiled at the surprise on Tim's face. "There is too much going on in your brain for the word _normal_ to ever apply to you. You're smart...and smart about things a lot of people aren't. You excel at computers but still love listening to jazz records. ...and I know that you've started writing short stories. Tim, normal is not an adjective anyone would use for you. ...and it's not because of what happened to your parents."

"But that doesn't help."

"No, probably not. Do you feel like you're pretending to be something you're not?"

"Sometimes. Not always."

Maria sighed and put her arms around Tim, hugging him tightly.

"We all pretend a bit sometimes. As long as _you_ know who you are and don't try to hide it from yourself, that's fine. But, Tim, don't pretend to yourself, okay? If you want to acknowledge your parents in private, do it. Don't pretend that they don't exist. If you want to remember them, do it. We just want you to be happy."

"That's what I want, too."

"And are you?"

Tim smiled. "Getting there."

"Good. Now, go on. I have to put the clothes away."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Abby got up to the bullpen and realized that she had somehow managed to leave her phone in the lab. It was annoying, but she had no intention of going without it. So she turned around and hurried back inside. It was late since they'd all stayed a bit longer than usual in an attempt to discover the current whereabouts of Hank Peterson...without success. It was like he no longer existed, although they'd eliminated a simple death. No sign of that either...and it was much harder to cover one's tracks when one was dead.

She marched into her lab, determined to grab her phone and leave once more...when a presence surprised her.

"Gibbs...what are you doing in my lab? You don't come in here unless there's someone else here to protect you from all the technology." She grinned.

Gibbs did not.

"We're missing something, Abby. Something obvious. Something important. My gut is telling me that we're on the wrong track."

"What track are we even on, el Jefe? There are about a billion different tracks this case could take. We don't even know if this Hank Peterson is the murderer or if he happened to visit, maybe in the guise of a repairman! We just don't know!"

"No, we do. Peterson is important, but why is another matter all together. What are we missing, Abbs?"

"I don't know...and it's really late, Gibbs. Go home and let me leave, too."

Gibbs practiced his selective hearing loss and stood up.

"Where's the info on Peterson's disbarment?"

Abby sighed, knowing that there was no escape now.

"Here," she said and typed in the request to bring up all the information they'd gathered. Upstairs, Gibbs could probably have done this on his own, but down here, he didn't touch anything.

"His reasons for breaking attorney-client privilege?"

"He claimed that it was more important to tell the truth than it was to follow a law that was protecting criminals. He said that his client was guilty and that all he had done was look the other way."

Gibbs was silent.

"He's hardly the first person to feel that way about the law, Gibbs," Abby said, a little tentatively.

"But he used that as his defense?"

"Yeah. He said that he had no interest in working in an occupation that rewarded people for protecting the bad guys."

The image of Hank Peterson looked out at them.

"How did he not serve time?"

"Mostly because he was right. The guy who got killed was a criminal and didn't have anyone who mourned him being dead."

"Abby, do that age progression thing on his picture. We need a BOLO for the area around Quantico. He's the key to these murders."

"What about Tim?"

"What do you mean?"

"What about the coincidence that, if he _is_ the killer, he killed them in a way that mimicked how Tim's parents got killed. ...and do you know how weird it is to think of Tim as having no parents? Of him being raised by an aunt and uncle instead of a mom and a dad? He's always seemed so...so normal. I mean, he told me lots of stories about what he did when he was younger." Then, Abby stopped as a realization came to her. "But he said so little about...about when he was younger. He told me about kindergarten...and he told me about high school. Nothing in between really. If I had asked him about when he was...say, ten or eleven, do you think he would have told me anything? Do you think he would have lied about it?"

"Abby!"

"Sorry, Gibbs."

"There was a lot of press on that murder. It's not like he couldn't have found information about it."

"Yeah, but why use that one? I thought you didn't believe in coincidences."

"I don't."

"What if...Hank Peterson..._chose_ Tim's parents on purpose...for some reason? But why?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Thirteen years ago..._

"_Don't tell, okay, Danny?" _Tim whispered over the phone.

"Don't tell _what_? And couldn't this have waited until the morning?"

"_No, because I wanted you to know what I'm going to do...but I don't think Dad...Uncle Dan and Aunt Maria would approve...even though they wouldn't say anything."_

Danny yawned and sat up in bed, slightly intrigued.

"What? You're going to graduate, just like me. I'm headed to grad school...and I thought you were, too."

"_I am...in computer forensics."_

"In _what_?"

"_Computer forensics! They have a whole discipline starting in the area of using computers to solve crimes! Computers..._and_ police work, Danny!"_

"So you're going to lug a computer around with you everywhere?"

"_No! ...but I want to join NCIS. They'll need this kind of expertise just as much as anyone!"_

"So why not just apply after you graduate?"

"_Because they're not accepting applications for the special agent position."_

"Special agent?"

"_Yeah, you know, the people who do the investigations."_

Danny was surprised now. "Tim...I thought you were doing computer forensics, not field work."

"_I can do both. The more skills I have, the better I'll look to them. ...and..."_

"What?"

"_And...by doing this, maybe I can do something for my parents and for yours."_

"What do you mean?"

"_NCIS is part of the Navy. It's a civilian agency but it's a part of the Navy. I'm getting an education like my dad wanted me to get...and like I want, but if I'm an investigator...maybe, someday, I can...figure out what happened."_

Danny could hear the hesitancy in Tim's voice. He himself wasn't sure he wanted to know. He was doing it more for his parents than for himself.

"Tim, shouldn't you do something that _you_ want to do?"

"_I am! I want to be a field agent, not stuck behind a computer for the rest of my life. I...I had to use the computer to communicate when I was younger, but that doesn't mean that it's all I want! It's not. I want a real life, Danny. I want a life that has meaning, purpose. I understand computers and I can use them, but they're not life, not really. They can't do any more than they're programmed to do. People can do more and less. I'm not giving up my life for a computer screen. If I apply to NCIS as a computer technician or anything less than an agent, that's all I'll end up being...and I don't want that."_

Danny was surprised at the vehemence in Tim's voice. He _really_ wanted it. He was being more honest than he'd probably ever been with...maybe with anyone.

"So...Tim...why are you telling _me_ this?"

"_Because I figured you'd listen...and you'd be honest."_

"Honest about what?"

"_Do you think I can do it?"_

"Why does my opinion matter?"

"_Because I know Dad...Uncle Dan and Aunt Maria won't want me to do it, but they'll try to be supportive. My therapist just says that I can do what I want to do. Sarah thinks I can jump over the moon...and she's only twelve...and Richard is too busy trying to convince Da-Uncle Dan that joining the Army isn't a criticism of the Navy. ...and I haven't told my friends here about my parents...and besides, you're in Psychology."_

"That hardly makes me an expert, Tim. I'm only two years older than you and I'm going to grad school next year. I'm no shrink."

"_Please?"_

"You want to do it?"

"_Yes."_

"Then, I say do it. It's better to try to get something you want, than to settle for what you don't want."

"_Thanks, Danny."_

"Don't thank me. Thank Ann Landers. I'm sure she said something like that at some point."

"_You read Ann Landers?"_

"Don't tell anyone."

Tim laughed. It still amazed Danny how much Tim had changed since going to MIT.

"_Wouldn't dream of it. Thanks."_

"Go to bed, Tim. It's after one here. So it's later there."

"_Yes, sir."_

Danny hung up and lay back on his bed. Tim as a field agent, chasing criminals, investigating crimes. He tried to imagine it. He couldn't.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Tim turned off his car and closed his eyes for a moment. He was tired and ready for bed. It had been a long day. With a satisfied sigh, he turned to pick up his bag when he sensed someone standing by his car door. He turned back quickly and saw a man, maybe in his late forties, smiling at him.

"Hey, sorry if I startled you."

The voice seemed familiar, but Tim couldn't place it.

"No problem."

"I think I took a wrong turn somewhere. Could you tell me how to get to Chevy Chase?"

Tim smiled. "Sure."

He started to open his car door to get out...when suddenly, the man leaned forward, blocking the view of any passerby, and pulled out a gun.

"Stay right where you are. Don't even think about reaching for your gun. I know you have it. Same with your phone."

"Look, if you want my money, I'll give it to you," Tim said, keeping his voice calm, even as he tried to recall why the voice sounded so familiar to him.

The man laughed. "I don't want your money, Agent McGee."

Then, it clicked. "You're that...that writer who was calling me. What are you doing?"

"Getting answers. Slowly pull out your gun and give it to me. Slowly!"

Tim nodded and carefully pulled his gun from its holster and handed it over. Ellis pocketed it.

"Now, your phone."

Tim again did as he was ordered.

_Why didn't I tell Gibbs about this sooner? Definitely too late now._

"Good. Now, move over to the passenger side."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see. It's a surprise. Move!"

Tim awkwardly climbed over the hump and sat down on his side.

"Put on your seatbelt, Agent McGee. We want to be safe, don't we?"

"Do we?"

"Put it on!"

"Okay, okay." Tim put on his seatbelt. "Now what?"

"Now, you're going to take a little nap."

Before Tim could ask what he meant, Ellis swung the butt of the gun at his head. There was an explosion of pain and then blackness.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

_Earlier that day..._

The doorbell rang and Jill debated whether or not to answer it. She'd gotten a late start packing and it was her job to pack. She and Aaron had an agreement. She took an extra day off at the beginning of the trip and did all the packing. He took an extra day off at the end of the trip and did all the _un_packing. Aaron would be home in about an hour and she didn't want him seeing that she wasn't ready to go.

The doorbell rang again and Jill sighed, resigned to interrupting her packing for a few moments. Quickly, she ran down the stairs and opened the door.

...and faced a man, holding a gun on her. He moved inside more quickly than she would ever have anticipated and smiled.

"You be smart and nothing will happen to you."

"What do you want?" Jill asked.

"From you? Nothing."

"What do you want from my husband?"

The man laughed at her. "Nothing. The two of you are a means to an end, nothing more. If you don't try to get away, you'll have a great story to tell your kids. If you try to get away...well, you won't be around to _have_ kids. Got it?"

"Yes."

"Good. Close the front door and lock it."

Trembling, Jill did as she was told.

"Upstairs, honey."

"There's nothing up there."

"I know. I told you. This has nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with the house. Upstairs."

Jill walked up the stairs, thinking that she was going to die.

"Into the bedroom."

"What are you going to do?"

"Keep you from being able get away."

Jill walked into the bedroom and stopped.

"Put your hands behind your back."

Jill followed instructions and soon, she found herself blindfolded, gagged and laying on the floor. She felt the floor vibrate as her captor walked back and forth. He said nothing, but Jill felt as though her life could end at any moment. Then, after a while, she heard the garage door go up.

_Aaron!_ But she didn't have any hope that he would rescue her. Aaron just didn't know what was coming.

She shifted a little bit and then felt a presence near her.

"Stay where you are or else I'll kill you. You can serve my purpose alive _or_ dead. I prefer alive, but I'll take dead if you make it difficult for me. Got it?"

Jill nodded.

"Jill! Are you packed?"

Jill whimpered.

"Jill?"

Footsteps up the stairs. Then, the bedroom door opened.

"Jill!"

Jill tried to say something to Aaron, but she could only whimper. Then, she heard a groan and felt the floor shake as Aaron fell. After a few minutes, Jill felt her captor beside her once more.

"Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."

Then, he walked out of the room. Jill heard him go down the stairs...and thought she heard the front door. She struggled to move, to get someplace where she could get free...but there was nothing. She could only move a few inches and then she was restrained.

No escape.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Ten years ago..._

Tim smiled even though he wasn't very happy.

"Thank you, Mr. Dorvalle."

"We'll expect you to start on Monday. Jerry will fill you on all the details. We're in the process of transferring everything to computer. Soon, we'll have it all digitized. Think about how easy it will all be."

Tim nodded, keeping the fake smile on his face until he was safely out of the bank. He supposed he should be grateful to have a job (even at a bank), but he still was hoping for something more. His first application to NCIS hadn't made it beyond the pre-screening interview. He figured it was because of his interview and his (lack of) physical fitness. Neither were particularly good. His brain had frozen at the first question he had been asked and he never could get back on track. The agent had been just intimidating enough that Tim had been afraid that every moment of his life was written across his flushed face. The agent hadn't been happy to be conducting the interview, either. He had been gruff and done a lot of staring, as if Tim wasn't answering fast enough, as if he had more important things to be doing other than chatting with some snot-nosed kid. ...and Tim felt much the same. Somewhere in his head, NCIS Special Agents had taken a high place in the hierarchy of law enforcement. Where he wouldn't have been so intimidated with the FBI, he looked at a man holding the position he desperately wanted to achieve...

...and he had choked. Badly. So badly that he had known nothing would come of it before the interview was over. Tim knew he had scuttled his own chances. So he had to find something else to do. That meant Johns Hopkins, a second bachelor's degree...and a job at a bank.

As Tim headed back toward his apartment, he stopped at a park, bought a hot dog and sat on a bench, facing vaguely southwest, toward DC where NCIS headquarters were located. He still remembered the humiliating conversation he'd heard between the agent who had interviewed him and another agent. He had dragged his feet coming out of the men's room, hoping that his flaming red face would go back to its regular color. Then...

"_So...how did the interviews go, Gibbs?"_

"_Stan, the next time Pacci is sick, you're taking over for him. The longest hours of my life."_

"_Oh, come on, can't have been that bad."_

"_You try sitting with a bunch of kids barely old enough to be out of high school, stuttering their way through memorized statements that mean nothing. This is what NCIS is looking for?"_

"_Well, if you don't like the candidates, then, don't send them on. It's as easy as that."_

Tim had slunk back inside the restroom for another few minutes and only come out when the agent had come storming in, looking for him so that he could get back to his real and more important job. He hadn't even been able to muster the courage to look this man in the eye. He wanted to get away and hide from the rejection, the total destruction of his dreams for the future.

The humiliation had lasted a long time, but then, after a few months, Tim decided that he couldn't give up so easily. He could reapply. He could practice more. He could do more physical fitness, talk with his therapist about his fears and he could try again.

...with another degree under his belt. After he finished up at Johns Hopkins, he would go back to NCIS and try again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Tim rejoined reality, with a blinding headache, the feeling of drying blood on the side of his head and a significant degree of confusion about where he was and what was going on. He blinked a few times and couldn't figure out why he thought he was in a garage.

"Come on, Agent McGee. We've got places to go...people to see."

The car door was wrenched open and Tim felt someone grab him and pull him out of the car. He tried desperately to get his brain in gear, but he was being pulled up steps and into a house before he could even remember who it was dragging him around.

"Walk up the stairs."

Tim looked up. This looked familiar.

"It's... We're..."

"You're home, Agent McGee. Never thought you'd be here again? Move."

Tim stumbled up the stairs, not needing any directions to where they were going. Once he was in the bedroom, he stopped in surprise. Two people were lying on the floor, bound, gagged and blindfolded. Tim looked back...and finally remember who had attacked him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, horrified.

"You are going to answer my questions, Agent McGee. Now. More lives are stake and if you continue to pretend that you don't remember, then, you'll have more murders on your hands."

"I didn't kill my parents! I couldn't have!"

Ellis shoved him hard and Tim was too unstable to regain his balance. He fell against the hard wood bedframe.

"You said you don't remember."

"I _don't_!"

"And yet, the evidence says it was you!"

"No, it doesn't! That's only one possibility and not even the most likely!"

Ellis smiled at him.

"Is that how you sleep at night? Convincing yourself that it's not the most likely scenario? Is that how you avoid the truth?"

"You're wrong!"

Ellis turned toward the two trembling figures on the floor and fired the gun once. Tim tried to stand.

"NO!" For just a moment, instead of these two strangers, he had a flash of...of someone else.

"Where did you get the gun, Agent McGee?" Ellis demanded.

Tim stared...at the bullethole in the floor.

"Where did you get the gun?"

"I don't know! I don't know where I got it! It was one of my dad's guns!"

"Where did you get it?" Ellis shouted and then fired again.

The words burst out of Tim's mouth before he even knew he was going to say them.

"It was on the floor! The gun was on the floor! I found the gun on the floor...by them!" he screamed.

There was a moment of silence as Tim realized what he had said. He tried desperately to find something else in his memory, something else of what had happened, but there was nothing. Only the gun on the floor.

"I thought you couldn't remember."

"Please, let them go," Tim begged. "Please, don't do this!"

"It seems that your tongue is loosening a bit, Agent McGee. I gave up everything because of what I knew was true. I'm not going to let you be rewarded for living a lie. You found the gun on the floor, you say? Was that before or after you shot your parents?"

"I didn't shoot my parents!"

Ellis fired again, this time close enough that the woman on the floor flinched away.

"Stop it!" Tim shouted.

Something in his mind was niggling its tentative way forward...a memory of pulling the trigger of a gun over and over, long after it was empty. The feeling of complete and total terror, the certainty of someone coming after him.

"Answer my question, Agent McGee! Answer it or they die! What's one more life on your head?"

"No!" Tim almost growled out the word and threw himself forward at Ellis, the move unexpected enough that he didn't get a chance to bring the gun around before Tim was on him, fighting for the gun. It went off. Once. Twice. Tim struggled to get a hold of it, to pull it from Ellis' hands. Finally, he got it and shoved Ellis against the wall. He hit it hard and fell, unmoving to the floor.

Tim gasped for breath, tried to steady himself because he felt as though he was going to collapse. He looked around for a phone and found one beside the bed. Gun in hand, he staggered to the phone and dialed the first number that came into his head. It rang five times.

"_Gibbs."_

"Boss..."

"_McGee?"_

Tim was so woozy, he didn't even think about the fact that he'd turned his back on his captor.

"Baltimore...Boss, I'm..."

Then, he was flung forward, the phone flying from his hands as Ellis caught him around the waist and began the struggle anew. He grabbed for the gun. Tim tried to keep it away, but he was fast losing the battle. He just couldn't keep himself focused on the here and now.

Ellis grabbed Tim's wrist and pulled it downward. Tim pulled back, the gun now wobbling between the two of them. Back and forth. Back and forth. Tim still had his finger on the trigger, but Ellis was getting more and more control of the gun.

Then, suddenly, the gun went off. Loudly. Tim felt it kick against his chest...

...and it seemed as though his whole world exploded, throwing him back into the past.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

_Nine years ago..._

Tim squared his shoulders and walked into NCIS Headquarters. He had hoped that he might be sent to another office for the interview this time, but nothing doing. The fluke that had sent him to the Yard before did not come to his rescue. NCIS Headquarters was the closest office to his current residence in Baltimore. He prayed that Agent Gibbs would _not_ be conducting the interview again.

"Your business?"

"I have an interview at ten a.m."

"Timothy McGee?"

"That's me."

Tim was passed through Security and sent up. He was met at the elevator by an agent he didn't know; so that was a good thing right away.

"Timothy McGee?" the agent asked.

"Yes."

"Good. Right on time. I'm Special Agent Chris Pacci. Come with me."

Tim followed silently. He felt more confident all through the interview. The written portion was fairly easy, as it had been before, and Agent Pacci was much nicer than Agent Gibbs had been. There was no overt irritation, simply a need to be punctual and since Tim had no problem with that, the interview went smoothly.

"It's been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. McGee."

"Thank you, Agent Pacci," Tim said as they headed back to the elevator.

"Oh, wait just a minute." Agent Pacci walked to his desk, looked around and then pursed his lips and looked across the bullpen at another agent, much younger.

He strode over to the desk, a stapler in his hand.

"Agent DiNozzo!"

The younger agent looked up in surprise.

"Yeah?"

"You said that you'd put my stapler back when you finished with it!"

"I did."

"You put it in the top right-hand drawer. It goes in the top _left_-hand drawer. Don't borrow my things if you can't put them back in the right place!"

Agent DiNozzo raised his hands in a _mea culpa_ gesture.

"Chris, what's up?"

"Nothing, Gibbs," Agent Pacci said, glaring at Agent DiNozzo as if he could sense the insincerity behind his expression.

Tim tried to slink back into the shadows at the appearance of Agent Gibbs but it was too late. He looked over to where Tim was standing beside the elevator. He raised an eyebrow speculatively, and Tim might have been imagining it, but he thought there was just a hint of him being impressed that Tim was back again.

"Someone waiting for you?" Agent Gibbs asked, jerking his head in Tim's direction.

Agent Pacci looked back. "Oh, right. The newest bunch is pretty good, Gibbs."

"Really?"

Tim flushed.

"Yeah. You might be seeing some of them around in a few months."

Tim felt a small swelling of pride at Agent Pacci's statement. He left the building feeling much better than he had the last time, and the good feeling only increased when he received word that he had passed the pre-screening interview. The Formal Screening Board interview was stressful, particularly when they asked him about his adoption, but he was relieved when they didn't ask for details on the reasons for his adoption. It would likely show up in his background check if they needed the details, but they didn't ask _him_ to relate anything and that was all to the good as far as he was concerned. It was easier not to talk about it...and he'd gotten used to that by now.

By the time Tim received word that he was headed to FLETC, he had a new goal, one borne out of his pride, more than likely, but it was still a goal.

He wanted to get onto Agent Gibbs' team.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

When Gibbs heard the phone hit the floor, he wasted no time trying to yell at Tim. He heard the shouting and the obvious struggle going on...somewhere in Baltimore and he didn't bother learning more. Instead, he grabbed his landline phone and called Abby, instructing her to run a trace on the location of the number that had shown up on his phone when Tim called. Abby promised to run to NCIS and figure it out and she would call him _en route._

Then, Gibbs called both Tony and Ziva, telling Tony to get an NCIS sedan on his way and pick up Gibbs and Ziva who would both be at Gibbs' house. Gibbs would drive in order to cut some time off their trip.

Ziva arrived in record time...and just in time to hear Tim start screaming.

"He is not near the phone?" she asked, her voice anxious.

"No. I've tried talking to him."

"_No! No! It wasn't me!"_

"Do you know what is going on?"

"No. He called but only got a few words out before someone attacked him. He sounded dazed."

On the surface, the conversation was incredibly calm considering what could be happening on the other end of the line, but beneath the calm words was a wealth of worry and fear that couldn't be expressed aloud because of what it could lead to.

They stood outside, waiting...not pacing, not speaking any more than was necessary.

They saw the sedan at the same moment and moved toward the sidewalk as Tony squealed to a stop and moved to the passenger side. Ziva got in back without complaint as Gibbs slid into the driver's seat.

"What's going on, Boss?" Tony asked.

Gibbs handed the phone to Tony. Tim's inarticulate shouting could still be heard, although it was fainter, as if he'd moved further away from the phone.

"What happened?"

"Don't know. He's in Baltimore. That's all I know."

"Can't we get someone to where he is?"

"Have to know where that is first," Gibbs said.

"His home," Ziva said. "He is in Baltimore. His parents were murdered in Baltimore."

"Makes sense, Boss."

"Not until Abby confirms. We don't want to send the police on a wild goose chase. Once we know, we can get them there in a couple of minutes."

The phone beeped and Tony answered, cutting off Tim's screams for the moment.

"Abbs, where is he?" Tony asked.

"_Is he okay?"_

"Address, Abbs."

Abby rattled off the address. _"That's where he grew up, Tony. It's the same address."_

"Thanks, Abbs."

"_Let me know...I won't go home until I know."_

"We'll call you when we can," Tony promised and hung up. "Ziva was right, Boss."

"Call Baltimore PD. Let them know."

Tony nodded and dialed. Then, all they could do was wait...and hope Gibbs didn't get them all killed as the car sped northward.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim saw and felt nothing that was reality. He was both watching and reliving something he'd never seen nor lived in his conscious memory. The onslaught of horror drowned him, sent him reeling. He didn't know what was happening in reality. He only saw and felt the experiences of a ten-year-old boy.

"_Mom, can I sleepover at Rob's tonight? It's Friday."_

"_No, Tim. You can't."_

"_Why not?" Tim whined._

"_You know very well why not. You haven't done your homework once this week."_

"_But, Mooom, it's so boring!"_

"_But it's your assignment. If you find it easy, then you should do it quickly and get it out of the way."_

"_But it's all so easy!"_

"_Then, do it. It's disrespectful to your teacher when you refuse to do any of the work. She has no way of knowing whether you can't do it or you just won't."_

"_It's stupid. I know all this stuff already."_

_Nora turned around. "Tim, if you do all the work that's assigned and do it fast, then your teacher will know that it's easy for you, and she'll probably be able to find other things for you to do. It's your responsibility to do the best you can, even when you don't want to."_

_Tim sighed. "When's Dad getting home?"_

"_He doesn't have any meetings today; so he should be home early. If you get it done before he comes home, maybe we can do something special tonight. I wouldn't mind not cooking."_

_Tim grinned. "Could we have pizza?"_

"_Maybe. I'm making no promises."_

_Tim laughed and hurried into the study to do his work. The gun cabinet didn't even arouse his interest this time, so intent was he on getting things done with the possibility of pizza in the near future._

"McGee, can you hear me?"

Tim could hear, but it was as if it was from a long way away and there was no way he could respond. He was only ten years old...and he'd just heard something downstairs.

"_Dad?"_

_Levi rolled over, yawning. "What is it, Tim? Bad dream?"_

"_No. There's someone downstairs in the study. I could hear them talking."_

"_Them?"_

"_Yeah. There are a bunch of them. I could hear them."_

_Nora sat up. "Are you sure, Tim?"_

_Tim nodded._

_Nora looked at Levi and leaned over to pick up the phone._

"_Levi...there's no dial tone."_

_Levi looked at Nora and took the phone from her hand. He listened and then looked at Tim._

"_Tim?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_I want you to go into the bathroom and stay in there until I come and get you, okay?"_

_Tim felt scared now. "Okay. What's going to happen?"_

"_Nothing. Don't try and listen to what's happening."_

"_Dad..."_

"_Don't listen, Tim. Just stay in the bathroom until I come and get you. Understand?"_

_Tim nodded and ran into the bathroom and crouched down on the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees. He waited and then heard a shout from downstairs. He started to feel more scared than he had been before. That was his dad's voice. Then, loud angry voices drown him out. Tim covered his ears as the voices grew louder and a number of feet came up the stairs. _

"_So there _is_ someone else in here, Mr. McGee! Look at the pretty lady!"_

"_Touch my wife and..."_

_There was a heavy thump on the floor. Tim started shaking and looked around for somewhere to hide. The only place he could see was in the laundry hamper. It was half full of dirty clothes. Trying to be quiet, Tim got up and climbed inside it._

"_Should we dress her up as nice as we're gonna dress you, Mr. McGee? Will that make _you _a troublemaker, huh, Mr. McGee?"_

_Tim plugged his ears, trying to drown out the sounds, but he couldn't. It was too loud. _

"_No! No!" _

_Tim heard his mother scream...and then he heard a gunshot._

"_You–" Levi began, but there was nothing else..._

_...only another gunshot._

_Tim began to cry._

"Come on, McGee. Snap out of it!"

A part of Tim realized that he wasn't ten years old, that this wasn't really happening...but there was too much of him who didn't believe that, who was just going through it all...again.

"What do we do, Boss?"

"Tim...can you hear me?"

_The footsteps receded, back down the stairs, and Tim heard the voices...the voices he wasn't supposed to hear. ...but he couldn't hear anything from his parents, and he was afraid of what that meant. Quietly, he got out of the laundry hamper and crept to the closed bathroom door. His hands were shaking as he reached out and turned the knob. When the door opened..._

"Calm down, Tim! Calm down. It's okay. You're okay."

_Tim saw the blood...but worse...they were alive. They were still alive. He could see his mother writhing weakly, but he couldn't see her face. There was no sound beyond a faint choking. He looked at his dad, lying on the floor, feebly trying to stem the blood pouring out of his neck onto the floor. He made no sound at all, but his eyes found Tim as he stood there staring in absolute horror._

"No, Daddy," he whispered. "No..."

_His father reached for him with a bloody hand, but Tim couldn't move and then the hand fell to the ground and Levi's eyes, instead of looking at him became dull and lifeless...dead. He looked frantically toward his mother and watched her body flail one last time and then become still._

"Mom...Mommy...please..."

_Then, he remembered._

"I wasn't supposed to come out. I wasn't supposed to hear."

_He ran back into the bathroom and climbed back into the laundry hamper, covered his ears and closed his eyes, frantically trying to block any sound. If he hadn't left the bathroom...if he hadn't disobeyed his father...if he hadn't seen them...if he hadn't heard them..._

_Maybe he could wait and it would all go away. ...yes, wait for Daddy to come. If he waited like he was supposed to do, Daddy would come._

_Feet came running back up the stairs._

Tim tried to curl up more tightly, tried to find a safe place.

He felt arms around him, comforting presences on either side.

"Come on, Tim. Come on back. It's okay."

No. No, it _wasn't_ okay.

"_They're dead, man! You killed them!"_

"_Me? I wasn't the only one holding the gun!"_

"_We were just going to scare him! Get him back for what he did."_

_Tim tried to block out all the sounds, but he couldn't help hearing. He didn't want to hear. Daddy had told him not to listen._

"_We'll do what we planned."_

"_They're dead! What does it matter?"_

"_We have to make it look...look different. We'll make it look like we wanted something from downstairs. We'll..." The laughter made Tim feel sick. "...we'll make them look special. It'll throw everything off. No one will tell."_

"_What about Ryan?"_

"_He won't tell. He's the one who got the gun."_

"_Fine...that's the bathroom?"_

"_Get started."_

_The door to the bathroom opened and Tim began to shake but he didn't make a sound as one of the men began making strange sounds. _

"Don't listen. You don't hear anything," Tim whispered.

"_We're gonna make you two look soooo special."_

"Tim, whatever it is you're remembering, it's all in the past. It's not now."

As if that mattered.

_He didn't know how long it took before they left, but even after the house was silent, the sickening smell of hair dye and nail polish lingering in the air, Tim didn't move. He couldn't leave the bathroom. He wasn't supposed to. He hadn't heard anything._

_...but the smell wouldn't go away, and it made him feel sick. Just once, he closed his eyes, ran out into the bedroom, opened the window and ran back into the bathroom...back to the hamper._

_Other smells came later as the house heated up with the rising of the sun the next morning. Tim wanted to leave. He really wanted to leave, but he couldn't, not until Daddy said he could leave._

"You're certain none of the blood there is his?"

"Yes. His only injury is right there."

"Probie, you need to stop doing this. Everything is okay."

No.

_The smell got worse and worse, especially when the temperature didn't fall very far overnight. Tim snuck out of the bathroom...and stared. There were...were _things_ crawling around on his parents. The gun was there, just under the bed. What if they came back? What if they wanted to do this to _him_? Guns weren't toys. They were weapons._

"Daddy, can I get the gun?"

_There wasn't any answer. It must not be time to leave yet. Tim ran and got the gun and retreated back to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. ...but he couldn't stop the smell. It was worse than the hair dye. He knew what it was, and he wanted to get away from it, but he couldn't leave._

"Let me go, Daddy. Let me go," he whimpered. "I want to leave."

_Daddy never answered. Maybe Daddy was mad because Tim hadn't done what he said._

_Tim promised himself that he wouldn't leave the bathroom again, not until Daddy said so. No matter what._

"No matter what," Tim whispered and blinked, suddenly aware that there were other sights greeting his eyes...the memories of the past slipping back into his mind. "No matter what."

"Tim?"

Tim looked around. There was Gibbs...and Tony...and Ziva. ...and a couple of people he didn't know.

"I...I remember, Boss. I remember." Tim began to sob. "I remember."

Tony awkwardly put an arm around his shoulders.

"We're...here, Probie. We're all right here."

The words didn't matter. Only one thing mattered right now.

"I remember."

...and now that he remembered, the only thing he wanted was to forget.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

There were police cars all over the street, an ambulance in the driveway...and a man being loaded into it when the MCRT finally arrived at the scene.

"That wasn't McGee, was it?" Tony asked as he got out of the car.

"No, he's still inside," a detective said. "Detective Arnold with Baltimore PD."

"Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS," Gibbs replied, holding out his badge.

"You're the guys who called."

"Yeah."

"Good thing you did. It doesn't look good in there."

"What do you mean? Is McGee okay?" Tony asked.

"I honestly don't know how to describe him...but okay probably wouldn't cover it."

"Explain," Ziva said.

"You see those two over there?"

A man and a woman were sitting together in the back of a car, arms around each other.

"They were both attacked by the man they just took to the hospital, but when we got to the house, that guy was bleeding out on the floor, and they were both tied up and blindfolded. ...and your guy was in the bathroom screaming. He's not screaming now, but he's not letting anyone near him and he's...not all there. Won't respond to anything anyone says."

"Where is he now?"

"Still in the bathroom. He's in the shower. There's something going on, but heck if I know what it is."

"Can we go in?" Tony asked.

"Go ahead. He's acting...kinda like a little kid, if you ask me."

They ran into the house and up the stairs. Two police officers were by the door to the bathroom, but they stepped aside to let the three go in. Tim was inside a glass shower, knees drawn to his chest, a look of absolute terror on his face. There was dried blood on the side of his head, in his hair, and more blood staining his chest...but it clearly didn't belong to him.

"McGee?"

Whatever Tim thought he was seeing, it was nothing good. The only sound coming out of his mouth were terrified whimpers. Then, suddenly, he started to push himself back further, letting out an inarticulate scream of horror. Tony and Ziva both knelt down beside him, trying to calm him down. Speaking words they knew he wouldn't hear.

"No, Daddy... No..."

"Mom...Mommy, please..." Tears streamed down his cheeks.

More whimpers and then a terrified whisper.

"I wasn't supposed to come out. I wasn't supposed to hear."

It took a full twenty minutes of them trying to speak to him, trying to get through to him before Tim looked _at_ them. His eyes made a slow pan of the room, resting briefly on each occupant before settling on Gibbs.

"I...I remember, Boss," he said, sounding incredibly weary and horrified. "I remember."

His tears were no longer those of a child. As he let Tony and Ziva comfort him, he seemed to be in shock, dazed and confused, just repeating over and over again that he remembered.

"McGee," Gibbs said softly.

Tim looked at him, head listing slightly to one side.

"I remember everything...I don't want to."

Then, his eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped against Ziva.

"Boss, it looks like he got clocked pretty good here. Maybe with a gun. I'll bet it needs stitches at least."

Gibbs nodded and gestured to the EMTs to come in, finally. Tony helped shift Tim carefully onto a stretcher and they rolled him away. Gibbs looked at the bedroom. The bedroom where Tim's parents had been murdered so many years ago.

"What happened in here, Boss?" Tony asked, his voice low. "McGee said nothing anyone had done helped him remember. What happened that...that broke through all that?"

"McGee must have shot the man who was in the ambulance," Ziva said, crouching over a bloodstained shirt on the floor. "Why?"

"You said there was a struggle, Boss?"

Gibbs nodded silently.

"An accident, then?"

"It could not have been the other two. They were both restrained, according to the detective."

"Whatever happened...it was enough to make McGee experience everything again," Gibbs said. "And whatever he remembered...it was bad enough that he would rather forget it."

"_Will_ he remember?" Tony asked. "I'm sure he had a concussion...and if he didn't _want_ to remember in the first place..."

"I'm not Ducky, Tony," Gibbs said.

"We should have him come."

"No one died."

"Doesn't matter. We probably don't even have jurisdiction, do we? He's a friend of McGee's. He'd want to know. Maybe not as much as Abby, but still..."

Ziva stood. "We must call his family. If this was so bad...his family helped him when he was young. They should be here now."

Gibbs nodded. "Ziva, call Ducky and Abby, let them know what's happened. Tony, go down and see how things are going to fall out with the local LEOs. If they insist on investigating, at least see if they'll keep us in the loop. I'll call McGee's parents."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Maria rubbed her eyes tiredly. She hated balancing the checkbook. So did Dan and that meant trading off. This was her month for it and they'd had some extra expenses what with helping Sarah settle in to her new apartment at Stanford...and then she'd "borrowed" some money for a conference in London last month. Overall, not a normal month for the McGee family.

"Dan...I'll pay you a hundred dollars if you finish this."

Dan laughed and walked into the study. He hugged her from behind. "Will that be coming out of the checking account or the savings account...or the credit union?"

Maria groaned and laughed. "I hate money."

"No, you hate _managing_ it...and no one likes doing that."

"Someone must...but it definitely isn't me."

"Nor me. It's plenty late, hon. You can finish in the morning."

"No, then, I'll feel like I'm wasting the whole day. Might as well get it done now."

"Do you want me to wake you when I go running tomorrow?"

"You do that and I'll kill you."

Dan only laughed at her threat and left the study.

The phone rang.

"I'll get it, Dan!" Maria called and stood up.

"No way. Finish the checkbook!"

Maria sighed and sat down again, listening with half an ear as Dan answered the phone.

"Dan McGee speaking. Yes, I know who you are, Agent Gibbs."

Maria turned toward the study door. A call from a superior was rarely a good thing whether one was serving in the military or working in law enforcement. That usually meant only one thing...

"What do you mean?" Dan asked, walking into the study, his expression one of concern. "He said that he remembered?"

Maria felt her heart sink. If this was Tim they were talking about, there was only one thing he couldn't remember that might be cause for alarm.

"Is he all right?" There was a sigh of relief, although his expression didn't change. "Yes. Of course, we'll come as soon as we can." Dan gestured and Maria walked over and put her arms around his waist. "No, we'll call the others. Thank you, Agent Gibbs. Maryland General? Yes. Yes, we know where that is. Thank you." He hung up.

"What is it, Dan? What happened?"

"They're not sure, but someone attacked Tim...and he said that he remembered...and wanted to forget."

Maria felt tears in her eyes.

"What did he see, do you think? What could have been so bad?"

"Come on, Maria. We both know that he must have seen Levi and Nora...dead and decomposing."

"I know...but he's okay?"

"Agent Gibbs said that he got a bad knock but that he should be fine. Physically. They just don't know mentally. He passed out or something."

"I can be ready to go in five minutes."

"Hey, and we can finally get some use out of my military service discount."

"It's going to take forever."

"We'll get there, Maria," Dan said. "He's our son. We'll get there."

"What about Sarah and Danny and Richard?"

"We'll have time to call them on the way."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Boss, you've got to see this," Tony said, as Gibbs came out of the house.

"What, Tony?"

Tony held up an evidence bag with a wallet inside.

"The guy who attacked McGee. His name is Ellis Shands according to his license...but look at the picture."

Gibbs took the bag and looked at the open wallet. It was a familiar face. Slightly older, but familiar.

"Hank Peterson."

Tony nodded. "The guy associated with the Campbells' murder at Quantico. What are the odds do you think?"

"What does Detective Arnold have to say?"

"He's cooperative. He's new since I was here, but..."

"...that only made it easier, right?"

Tony grinned. "Sure did."

"Looks like we can argue for jurisdiction."

"I think they'll be willing to share it, but I'll bet they'll fight against letting it go completely." Tony shuffled his feet. "...and, Boss...right now, I'd rather go to the hospital and see how McGee is doing. They're getting statements from the Brownings and Detective Arnold said we can come by and get updated anytime. Shands is at the hospital but he's under guard. The only mystery here is what's going on in McGee's head."

"They are coming," Ziva said, hanging up her phone. "Ducky said he would leave a message for Jimmy because he is currently on rotation."

"The McGees are coming, too," Gibbs said.

Ziva actually smiled. "I have always wanted to meet more of McGee's family."

"Yeah, we can get embarrassing stories about him," Tony said.

Gibbs looked at them and sighed.

"All right. Let's go."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The ringing phone at 3 a.m. woke Danny up and he was instantly alert. The only time he got phone calls at this hour was for something bad.

"Danny?"

"I'll get it, Elise."

Danny reached out and grabbed the phone.

"Danny McGee."

"_Danny, it's your mother."_

"Mom? What's wrong?" Danny bit back the joking _who died?_ question on his lips. With Richard in Afghanistan, it was all too possible that someone really had died.

"_Your father and I are at the airport. We're heading to Baltimore."_

Danny's heart sank. "Tim?"

"_He's all right...we think. Danny, something happened. His boss called us and someone attacked Tim...and somehow made him remember."_

"Everything?"

"_I guess so. We're booked on the first flight out of San Diego, but that's not until six in the morning our time."_

"And you don't want Tim to be alone?"

"_He won't be...but I really want someone from the family there...someone who...who knows him and understands him."_

"I don't know if I qualify, Mom."

"_I know it's asking a lot, Danny, and we'll reimburse you for the ticket..."_

"Mom, you don't need to pay for my plane ticket. I'll go. Of course. If it'll help, I'll go. There should be some early flights heading to Baltimore."

"_Agent Gibbs seemed really worried about Tim...and I hate not being there."_

"No worries, Mom. I'll get there. We're family and family comes first. Tim's my brother and that's all that matters."

"_Thanks, Danny. Sarah is going to try and get there, too. Whatever is going on, I just have the feeling that Tim needs us."_

"Sarah might be worried enough that she'll pay for the flight herself."

Maria's worried laugh stopped too quickly.

"Mom, it'll be okay. Really. It's been over twenty years, and Tim's not a kid anymore. Even if he has remembered everything and it hits him hard, he can get back."

"_Is that your professional opinion, Dr. McGee?"_

"Nope. I promised Tim I would never psychoanalyze him. This is just me speaking as his brother."

"_I love you, Danny. You're a good man."_

"It took you guys knocking some sense into me, but thanks, Mom. If I call the airport now, I might be able to find something leaving before six."

"_Thank you."_

"Bye, Mom. See you later." Danny hung up and yawned.

"You're going?" Elise asked.

"Yeah. That all right?"

Elise stretched and sat up. She pecked him on the cheek. "Well, I don't relish getting our rugrats out the door on my own or telling Ingrid that her papa is gone, but you are right. Family comes first. For you and for me. Our family is doing well. Your brother is not. So...you have to go. What will you tell your colleagues?"

"That I had a family emergency. Goodness knows I haven't taken any emergency leave...since you timed all our children so well."

"That's what we Germans do well. We're well-organized so that we can be punctual."

"You keep _me _on time. It should only be a day or two and then I'll come back. Mom and Dad are stuck in San Diego until six...and that's if their flight leaves on time. Mom didn't say when they were supposed to get into Baltimore but it probably won't be until late afternoon at the earliest."

"You don't need to justify yourself to me. Call the airport and get out of my bed so I can sleep."

Danny laughed. "I love you, too."

In the end, he found a spot on a flight leaving at five-thirty a.m. for not too much. He bought the ticket and headed straight to the airport.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You can go and see him. Maybe he'll listen to you," the doctor said.

"What do you mean?" Ziva asked.

"He's...not really asleep, but he's not awake. It's not a coma. He just won't respond. We gave him a CT scan but there's no explanation for this to be found there. Whatever is wrong with Agent McGee, it doesn't have a physical cause. It's something...in his mind and we can't treat that, especially without any input from him. We'll do our best, but I think it's going to be up to him, not up to us."

"But we can go?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes. Down the hall, turn left at the first junction. His room is #416."

"Thank you."

Tim's room was quiet. Tim lay in the bed, eyes closed, but his body was too tense for him to be asleep. There was a line of stitches running along the left side of his head. He was on an IV and had a heart monitor, but he seemed to be breathing fine. In fact, if it weren't for him being in a hospital (with all the accouterments attached to that), he would have seemed to be asleep...except for that strange tension in his body. It was early in the morning, only seven a.m., and they'd been awake for hours, but somehow, there was no question of leaving just now. What Tim had remembered, what had happened in that room, they didn't really know. What they did know was that they couldn't leave Tim alone, even if he didn't know they were there.

Tony made the only real attempt to break the silence.

"Probie...everything's all right. You can wake up."

There was no response, not to Tony's voice, not to Ziva's hand. Not to Gibbs' quiet presence. Tim was waiting. They just didn't know for what.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_If I wait for Daddy to come and get me, it will all go away._


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

_Twenty-three years ago..._

"Dr. Bartschi!"

Dr. Bartschi sighed and looked down the hall. "Tim, again?"

"He's back in the bathroom again, been in there for nearly an hour. When are his relatives getting here? What's taking so long?"

"They only got the addresses last night. Detective Jones assured me that they are on their way and will get here as soon as possible."

"Have they figured out what happened?"

"Not that they've told me, but they're not likely to unless it's necessary. I'll go talk to Tim. See if we can get him out of there again."

"Better you than me. I'm just not good with kids."

Dr. Bartschi laughed and headed into Tim's room. The light in the bathroom was on and the bed was empty. She nodded to herself and went into the bathroom.

"Tim?"

No response. She walked around the door and found Tim wedged into a corner, staring. His eyes were moving around but he wasn't really looking at anything.

"Tim, remember me? My name is Ruth. I'm your doctor. Do you remember?"

A nod.

"Good. You want to come out of the bathroom?"

Another nod.

"Well, come on."

Shake.

"Why not?"

"D-Daddy s-s-said to...to w-w-wait until h-he came."

Ruth's heart twisted with sadness for this poor kid, trying desperately to make things okay but knowing that they weren't and possibly never would be.

"Tim...do you remember why you're here?"

A long pause.

"Why are you here, Tim?"

Another long pause and then Tim lifted his dull green eyes up to look at her. "Th-They're d-d-dead?"

"Yes, I'm sorry. Your dad can't come."

"I didn't hear anything."

"Okay. Will you come out now?"

Tim sniffled a couple of times and it seemed as though tears might be imminent, but then he swallowed and nodded, picked himself up off the floor and walked back to his bed unaided. He got onto the bed and pulled the covers up to his chin.

"I didn't hear anything," he whispered. "I didn't hear anything."

Dr. Bartschi sat down beside him. "What didn't you hear?"

For just a moment, it looked as though the unexpected question might trigger a memory but then, Tim began to shriek again, as he had before.

"I didn't hear anything! I didn't hear anything!" His voice cracked.

Dr. Bartschi quickly put her arms around him and rocked him back and forth.

"It's okay. It's okay, Tim. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you. It's okay. It's okay."

It took some time to calm Tim down again and when he was no longer shouting, he was back to that empty-eyed stare, his covers drawn up to his chin. Hiding from the world he couldn't face.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Danny hurried into the hospital. He was glad he'd managed to sleep on the plane, but he was definitely still a little tired. After getting directions to Tim's room, he headed in the indicated direction, arriving at the closed door quickly enough. He saw three people around the bed...and Tim, eyes tightly closed, body tensed as if for a fight. Danny pushed open the door and smiled as they all turned toward him.

"Hi...I'm Danny..." He paused and rolled his eyes. "That is, I'm Dan McGee, Junior, but I go by Danny because there's no way I'm being called Junior. My parents called and I just flew in. How is he?"

"Jethro Gibbs," one man said, standing up and extending his hand. "He's been like this since we got here. He talked to us at the house but nothing since then."

"Ziva David. You are his brother?"

"Yeah. I'm two years older...but we graduated the same year...much to my chagrine."

"Tony DiNozzo."

Danny shook all the hands and then looked at his brother.

"We'll head out now," Gibbs said.

"Oh, you don't have to leave."

Tony smiled. "Actually, we kind of do. We have work to do, but we didn't want to leave him alone...so we were waiting until someone else got here. You missed meeting Ducky and Abby. They had to head back to DC about an hour ago."

Danny chuckled. "Tim said that I needed to meet Ducky especially."

"Why?"

"I'm a clinical psychologist. Tim said that Ducky would love to chat and that I'd find an interesting study. Is it true?"

"Definitely," Ziva said with a smile which quickly faded as she looked back at Tim. "I hope that you can help him. Nothing we have done has had any effect."

"I'll bet it has. You just can't see it yet. Thanks for staying with him. We're all pretty far-flung. I'm in Pennsylvania. Sarah's at Stanford and Mom and Dad are still in San Diego. Richard's in Afghanistan. It's just not easy to get out here...even though I'm the closest."

"It's the least we could do," Gibbs said.

"Maybe," Danny said, "but I'll bet others wouldn't have done the same. Did you even know about all this?"

"He'd told us a few days ago, but not before that," Tony admitted.

"And you weren't mad at him for keeping his past a secret?"

"Not much. Maybe a little at first, but mostly no."

"Then, you're better than some of Tim's friends. Some felt as though he'd somehow betrayed them by not parading around the murder of his parents. Tim's goal has been to be normal and happy. I'm not sure the normal thing worked out, but he's been pretty happy...up to now." Danny sighed. "Do you know what happened?"

"Not in any detail yet. We know that a man named Ellis Shands held the new owners of McGee's old house captive and that he attacked McGee."

"Wait...did you say Ellis Shands?"

"Yes. Why?"

"That's the name of a man who called, not just me, but my parents, Sarah, even a friend of Tim's, trying to find Tim. He claimed he was writing a book or something stupid like that and wanted to feature Tim's parents' case in it."

Tony's eyes widened. "Are you sure it's the same person?"

"The name is the same. I can vouch for that much. I never saw him. He only called me once. I told Tim about it and that seemed to be the end of it. You're saying this guy attacked Tim? Physically attacked him?"

"Appears to be the case."

"Did you arrest him?"

"Yeah. He's under arrest."

"Good. I don't know why any sane person would think it was okay to probe into someone's life just to make a buck."

Gibbs cleared his throat.

"We've got to go."

Danny nodded quickly. "Yeah, I'm sorry to keep you. Thanks for your help and hopefully, I'll see you around later?"

"More than likely," Ziva said with a smile.

Danny watched them all go and then turned back to his brother. Slowly, he walked to the bed and sat down.

"Hey, Tim. It's Danny."

A slight twitch. Danny smiled.

"I saw that. So you _can_ hear us. Well, you want to talk to me about it?"

He waited. Nothing.

"That's all right. I've learned not to push you when it's not necessary. I'm here, though. If you want to talk, you just have to do it. I'll keep my promise and I won't psychoanalyze you. Mom and Dad'll be here later today. They have farther to come."

A definite twitch that time.

"That's what I thought, Tim. I know what you need. I know. If you remembered everything that happened...it really sucks that you had to be alone when it happened. I'm sure it hit you like a ton of bricks. ...but I'm right here and I won't leave you alone."

No reaction. Danny took one of Tim's clenched fists in his hands. It was cold and tight.

"Elise keeps telling me that we need to invite you up to Pittsburgh more often. She doesn't want our kids to grow up not knowing their relatives. You know how far away her family is. We're waiting to fly to Hamburg until the kids are old enough to appreciate it. ...but you're so close and we don't do anything about it. That needs to change. ...and that means that you and I need to change a bit, I think. You _are_ my brother, Tim. I don't think I've really mentioned it before, but I don't think of you as anything other than my brother. You're not my cousin. You're my brother...and I should have let you know that because I know you. You won't believe something like that until you get told. You're too afraid of making wrong assumptions, afraid of the hurt that could come from being wrong. In fact, you're probably the last one to realize how much a part of our family you really are."

Danny laughed self-consciously at all these things he was saying. Tim could hear, but would he remember upon awakening? Well, he knew he could say this all again. Saying it the first time was the hardest.

"Tim, I know I was a jerk to you when we were younger and...even though we got a lot better, it was still less that we were brothers but that we were stuck with each other. Remember when I started studying psychology and you made me promise not to psychoanalyze you? Well, what I didn't tell you was that the reason I wanted to study psychology was so that I could understand you. I wanted to _get_ who you are...but I didn't understand that I already had all the pieces to get you. I just had to take the time to think about them."

Tim's fist was still clenched tightly but his fingers were warmer, taking heat from Danny's hands.

"You're my brother, Tim. I know your dream has always been about your parents...but you're a part of _my_ family. ...and if you want to be, maybe even if you don't, you'll always be a member of the Dan and Maria McGees. Whatever happened, whatever you're remembering right now...try to remember that something came after all the horror. It didn't end in that house. It didn't."

Still nothing, but Danny hadn't been expecting anything really. He thought he knew just what would break Tim out of this state. Since he knew he couldn't give it, Danny leaned back in the chair, still holding Tim's hand in his and closed his eyes.

"I'm right here, Tim, but I'm tired and I need a nap. Feel free to wake me up if you want to talk, okay?"

No response. Danny was okay with that. Tim needed more than Danny could give.

He needed to hear the voice of his father.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_All as in a dream, the words washed over him, occasionally penetrating the repeating loop of memories...and those horrible images that threatened to overwhelm him if he wasn't careful. Tim didn't want to see them. He didn't want to remember them. ...but he wasn't a child anymore and forcing the memories away wasn't working now._

_...and he couldn't leave until Daddy came and let him go._


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Gibbs nodded at the Brownings as they sat across from him.

"Thank you for being willing to go over this again," he said.

"Detective Arnold said that it was one of your agents who was there?" Jill asked.

Gibbs nodded.

"Is he all right?"

"We hope so."

"We didn't see anything, Agent Gibbs," Aaron said. "All we can tell you is what we heard."

"I understand." Gibbs pulled out a picture of Ellis Shands. "You're sure that this is the man you saw, Mrs. Browning?"

Jill looked and nodded. "Yes. I won't forget. He seemed so...so nice when I first opened the door, but then..." She shuddered.

"We had no idea that people had been killed at our house. No one had to tell us that...and even if we _had_ known. It was more than twenty years ago!" Aaron said. "Who would have thought that would come back to us now? We never felt any of that...that _aura_ people talk about in infamous houses. It was...our dream house." He laughed.

"What can you tell me about what you heard?"

"I was kind of out of it for a while. He hit me pretty hard. Took me completely by surprise."

Jill looked at her husband with a bit of concern, her eyes straying to the bandage on his head.

"He left us alone for a while. I don't know how long it was, probably a couple of hours, but he'd tied us up too well. We couldn't get free," she said. "When he came back. He had someone with him. Your Agent McGee."

"You're sure of that?"

"He called him that. He said his name. And he kept asking all these weird questions. Demanding that Agent McGee answer, tell him where he got the gun and...and Agent McGee sounded so afraid. Didn't he, Aaron."

Aaron nodded. "I've never heard someone sound so afraid. The first time Ellis Shands, you say?"

Gibbs nodded.

"The first time he fired the gun, I thought that maybe Jill had been shot because of how Agent McGee reacted. He screamed, Agent Gibbs. It's stupid maybe, but...but I've never heard a guy scream." He shrugged. "It's just not..."

"Not a sound I ever want to hear again. _I_ thought Aaron had been shot. He started demanding that Agent McGee tell him where he got the gun and he kept saying he didn't know. He didn't remember. I have to admit that...that I was wishing he would just say whatever Ellis Shands wanted to know so that we'd could get away. Then, he fired again and...and I was afraid that...that Aaron had been shot again. And...and Agent McGee answered his question. It was weird. Both of them were quiet for a few seconds, as if they were both surprised."

Aaron took up the account. "The only reason I thought that Jill might still be alive was because Agent McGee kept asking him to let us go. Both of us. When that psycho started asking Agent McGee about killing his parents, I figured that he'd lost it somewhere and we were all paying the price for it. Then...then, it sounded like they were fighting. Agent McGee must have won for a moment because I heard him calling someone. His boss. You?"

Gibbs smiled and nodded.

"But he didn't manage to get much out before the fight started again," Jill said. Then...the gun went off...and...and Agent McGee...he...he..."

"I thought _he_ was the one who'd been shot at first because he was screaming again. He...He started saying that it wasn't him, that he hadn't done it. And...and there was no sound from Shands. I kept waiting for him to let us free, but nothing happened and then..."

"What?" Gibbs asked as the couple looked at each other. "What happened?"

"He knelt down by us and said that he was so sorry, that he shouldn't have come out," Jill said. "It was so strange. The way he was talking. I can't explain how he sounded, but it was wrong. That's all I can say. It was...wrong."

"He said..." Aaron stopped.

"What?"

"He...called me Daddy. Even if I could have said something, I wouldn't have been able to. When the police came, they let us go...but we didn't see him anywhere. He was...in our bathroom, but he was still screaming," Aaron said. "We couldn't stay inside. They moved us out really fast. That's all there is."

"Anything else you can add, Mrs. Browning?"

Jill shook her head. "No. Nothing. What happened?"

Gibbs hesitated and then decided to tell at least a small piece. These two deserved to know why exactly they had become so embroiled in this case.

"Agent McGee's parents were killed in that house. We think that Ellis Shands was using the two of you to force Agent McGee to remember what happened."

They were both quiet for a few seconds.

"I guess it must have worked," Aaron said softly. "He was starting to remember. I hope he'll be all right."

"So do I." Gibbs stood up and shook their hands. "Thank you for your help."

After the Brownings left the small room, Gibbs sat back down and thought about what had been said.

"So do I," he repeated.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Danny more or less had Tim to himself during the day. A doctor came in a couple of times to talk with him about Tim's status, but by and large, it was just Danny and Tim. Danny would talk, having one-sided conversations about life and about how interesting things could be. He brought up memories of growing up. After a few hours, Tim's fist, indeed, his whole body relaxed. From what Danny could tell, Tim was genuinely asleep, perhaps free from whatever memory had been attacking him...for the moment.

By seven that evening, Danny was starting to wonder when his parents would get there. It wasn't until seven-thirty that he looked toward the door and saw them peeking in the window. He smiled and leaned over.

"Tim, I'll be right back," he said softly.

And, as if in response, Tim's fist tightened. Awake again. Sort of.

"It'll be all right, Tim. Don't worry."

Then, he got up and walked over as the door opened.

"Can I talk to you guys outside first?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

They nodded and he ushered them out the door, closing it behind him.

"How is he?" Maria asked.

"He's...like he looks. He's okay. He's got a few stitches. The doctor told me that they're going to watch him to make sure that there's no swelling, but physically he really is okay."

"He's not responding at all?"

"Well...he is a little. He's reacted to a few things, but he's not really awake." Danny looked at his father. "Dad...I think he's waiting for _you_."

Dan sighed a little. "It's not really me, if we're right about what's going on in his head. It's my brother."

"Doesn't matter, Dad. Whether it's because he thinks you're Uncle Levi or because you're his dad...Tim is waiting for you. He _needs_ to hear _you_. Everyone knows that you're the one that has mattered the most to him ever since he came to live with us. I sure knew it...and I hated him for it." Danny smiled self-deprecatingly. "If he's remembering what happened back then...you're the one that has to bring him out of it. It's not me or Mom. If it was me, it would have happened already."

Dan was quiet for a long time, looking through the window at Tim's still form. Then, he pulled Danny into a tight hug.

"How did you get so smart?"

"You guys taught me how to listen. What can I say? Even a knucklehead like me can get ideas into his thick skull after a while."

Dan shook him a little. "Don't put yourself down, Danny. All the lectures in the world couldn't have helped if you didn't care." He took a deep breath and then smiled. "I think I was less nervous about fighting in the Gulf."

Maria chuckled. "I wasn't. Danny and I'll catch up. You go on in. We'll come back a bit later."

Dan kissed Maria on the cheek. "I love you." Then, he hugged Danny quickly. "You, too," he said a bit gruffly.

Danny watched him go into the room and sit down beside Tim.

"So, what does he need to say, Dr. McGee?" Maria asked.

"I wish I knew, Mom. I have no idea. I just know that my voice wasn't going to be the one that reached Tim."

Maria slid an arm around Danny's waist and directed him toward the waiting area.

"Oh, I don't know. I'll bet that your voice penetrated whatever Tim is experiencing right now. He's looked up to you for a long time."

"Oh, come on. I'm not an insecure kid anymore, Mom. You don't need to lie."

"I'm not. You just missed all the times Tim would watch you, wishing he could be like you instead of like himself." Maria stopped and looked Danny in the eye. "You'll never know how much of a difference you made in his life."

Danny flushed uncomfortably and hitched a shoulder.

"I'm not kidding. Yes, Tim needed us to step in as his parents, but he needed you to be his older brother, his idol. He needed Sarah as the younger sister who looked up to him. He needed Richard to be the one walking the edge among us all and somehow accepting all the craziness that involved. ...but he needed you. Tim lost his family twenty-three years ago, and he needed someone to replace them. He found us...and that includes you."

"He taught me a few things, too, Mom."

"That's because he's part of the family. You learn from your family, Danny. Sometimes, the lessons aren't pleasant, but your family always teaches you something."

Danny looked down at his mother who was shorter than he was by a good four inches or more and smiled.

"How did _you_ get so smart?"

Maria laughed. "I've always been this smart. It just took _you_ a long time to figure that out."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Dan sat down and looked at Tim. This was so much like the first time. Only Tim's eyes had been open then. How ironic it was that he had forgotten with his eyes open and now, apparently, was remembering with his eyes closed.

"Hey, Tim. It's...your Dad." He hesitated using the word, much as Tim always had, although not for the same reasons. He was afraid of feeding a mistaken identity. Twenty years on and he still missed Levi. Knowing that he'd never see his twin again was like knowing that he had a hole in his heart that would never heal. It wasn't something he talked about. It was just a fact of his life. Maybe taking care of Tim had been, in part, his way of dealing with the grief of losing a brother.

"You know...I didn't know what to say the first time I was in this building. I don't know what to say now. What's going through your head is as much of a mystery to me at this moment as it was when you were ten years old. I do know one thing, though, Tim. I love you. You're my son as much as Richard and Danny are. For all the challenges you presented us, for all the heartache and all the difficulties...you're...you're my son. And I hate to see you suffering like this. I just don't know what to say to help it stop."

He examined Tim's face. As Danny had said, there was no major signs of damage. The stitches revealed what had obviously been a heavy blow to the head, but otherwise, Tim looked fine...except for the lines on his face, his clenched jaw and his tightly-closed eyes.

Dan sat, staring at his adopted son, wishing he knew what it was that Tim needed to hear. Silent minutes ticked by. Then, he thought back to all those moments...and there were so many of them...the moments when Tim had fallen apart, had started shrieking...had asked for forgiveness.

"Because you left," Dan said, understanding coming to him at last. "If someone _was_ in the house, and you couldn't leave...I know Levi. He would have wanted you as safe as possible. He told you to go into the bathroom. ...and wait...wait for him to come and get you, when it was safe. Oh, Tim. I don't know why I never bothered to think about why you apologized for leaving. ...and you always said you didn't hear anything."

Dan and Levi had been identical twins, but they hadn't grown up the same way. For all that Dan had joined the Navy and Levi had become a teacher, Levi had always been the more confrontational of the two. He had always been the more aggressive. ...and if he had decided to confront whomever had invaded the house, it could easily have led to violence on either side. ...but Levi was also a very conscientious person and he wouldn't have wanted his son involved in that.

"He didn't want you to hear whatever happened, whatever he had planned on doing." Dan understood the why, even if he didn't know what had happened after that. He understood why Tim insisted he hadn't heard anything: because his father had told him _not_ to.

Dan took Tim's hand in his and then he spoke, slowly and deliberately. "Tim, it's okay. It's safe now. It's time to leave the bathroom. It's time to come out. Do you hear me? It's time to come out."

He waited. At first, nothing happened, nothing at all and Dan's certainty faltered. Maybe he was wrong and Tim needed to hear something else. He looked down at Tim's hand, laying so limply. Then, without warning, it flexed and held his hand tightly. Dan looked up and saw Tim's eyes open, staring at him...eyes filled with horror, with grief, with fear.

Tim didn't speak. He didn't move. He just looked at Dan with those frightened eyes.

"Tim?"

Tim blinked. That was all.

"Do you remember?"

A nod.

"All of it?"

Another nod.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

A shake.

"That's all right. We can wait."

Tim looked at him for a few more seconds and then his face crumpled and he began to cry. He took deep gasping breaths in between sobs as he was able to express the emotions he had felt and then hidden from himself and the world. Dan sat on the bed and put his arms around Tim, hugging him tightly...but not as tightly as Tim clung to him. For a few minutes, that was all. Tim didn't speak and Dan didn't try to make him. He just sat and let Tim cry. The door opened, admitting Danny and Maria...but that wasn't all. There was a veritable horde of people standing around behind them, but the older one (Dan guessed it must have been the Agent Gibbs Tim had told them about) took one look at the scene and then gestured for the others to back off. Dan appreciated it. There would be time for friends later. Tim needed his family right now. The door closed and Maria and Danny came over to the bed as Tim started letting out fragments of what he was thinking.

"...saw them...dying...blood...no face...and...hands...and...the voices...hid in...couldn't...and..."

"Let it out," Dan said. "It's all right, Tim. Just let it all out. We're here."

Tim buried his face in Dan's chest, muffling his already incoherent words.

"...not supposed...promised...and...go away...couldn't...heard them...and...special with...the smell...and...and...other and it was...so long...couldn't...but...scared...afraid." For a long time, there was nothing but heaving sobs. Then, one full sentence was finally heard. "I...I want to forget. I don't want to remember this."

"Tim..." Dan began.

"No! No, I want to forget it again. I want to...I...I can't...I..."

"Hey! Hey, there. Calm down, Tim."

Tim shook his head.

"All right. Just take a breath. Let it out. Now, another one."

Tim did as he was bid and then sat up, looking at Dan and then Danny and Maria. He took another deep breath...and then another. He shook his head.

"I don't want to remember this. I wish I..." Tim closed his eyes and just tried to breathe.

"Tim, you can't forget it now," Danny said. "It wouldn't help. You know that."

Tim opened his eyes and smiled for a moment. "You said you'd never psychoanalyze me."

"Sorry, extreme measures."

Tim laughed and then started cry again. "I'm sorry."

"No, you don't need to apologize. Dealing with all this...I don't envy you the task," Dan said, "but Danny's right. You can't just forget it again."

"I know," Tim said and took another deep breath. "I watched them die, Dad. Mom...she...she didn't have...a face anymore. She was...There was just blood and...and she was just moving around. I could see how much she...she was hurting." Tears rolled down Tim's cheeks. "Dad was...trying to breathe, but he couldn't and he couldn't make any noise except for this...horrible sucking sound. He was...looking at me when he died. Blood coming out of his mouth. And he died while I watched. His eyes died. Seeing those two people...and..." Tim stopped and looked around the room. "I thought I...they were here, weren't they?"

"Who, Tim?"

"Uh...Gibbs...and Tony, everyone?"

"Yes, they're here," Maria said. "They're waiting outside."

"They need to know...what happened in the house."

"It can wait, Tim," Dan said. "You don't need to do it right now."

"No...I do." Tim forced a smile. "As long as they don't mind me being a wuss...and crying. I'd rather just get it over with. They need to know so that they can...can investigate...or whatever...decide to...arrest me for shooting Ellis Shands." Tim's lip started quivering a little and he tried to take a few more calming breaths.

"They wouldn't do that."

"I don't know," Tim said, his voice drifting. "I just don't know."

"Stick around, Tim," Danny said, lightly slapping Tim's knee. "If you're going to talk to them, you need to be awake to talk."

Tim nodded, with another deep breath. He was taking so many deep breaths it was a miracle he wasn't hyperventilating.

"Right."

"Are you ready to tell them?" Maria asked.

"Yeah...yeah, Mom, I am."

The form of address was lost on none of them. Nor was the fact that Tim had also referred to Dan as Dad without hesitation.

"Okay, then, sweetie. I'll go get them."

Tim leaned back on the bed and then looked at his brother.

"Danny?"

"Yeah?"

"While I'm...talking...you can feel free to psychoanalyze me."

Danny grinned. "Really?"

"Yeah...just this once." Tim laughed, even as another tear escaped captivity. "You know...I never thought, if I remembered this, that I'd react like this. I thought it would be...a lot more calm. A lot less crazy."

Danny smiled sympathetically. "More than likely, if it hadn't happened as it did, with you being under attack, your recovered memory _would_ have been a lot more calm, but I'll bet that it was the only way for you to deal with it once it was forced on you."

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For making my stupidity sound normal."

Danny shook his head firmly, glancing briefly at Dan who hadn't moved from Tim's side.

"No, Tim. It's not stupidity. It's not insanity. It's the fact that you were overwhelmed by remembering an experience which would have hurt anyone. Anyone. You were injured, you were afraid...and you saw others in danger from what I gather. All of that at once? _Plus_ having a horrible memory forced on you? No, I'd say that you're doing pretty well."

"Thanks, Dr. McGee."

"You're welcome, Agent McGee."

Tim laughed and wiped away some of the new tears.

"Don't forget, Tim," Dan said. "We're right here. You're not alone in this."

"Thanks, Dad."

The door opened, heralding the arrival of his friends. Tim cast one more glance at Dan.

"I still don't want to remember."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Tim watched everyone file in, knowing that he had asked to tell what had happened...but knowing that he didn't want to say the words. He also knew that if he didn't say it now, he might never say it...but he knew now why his ten-year-old mind had chosen to forget it all. He also knew why he had remained obsessed with that horrible vision of his parents on the floor. Even with all the will in the world, he couldn't remove the horror completely. Part of the problem was that, in his mind, the present and the past kept getting mushed together...and at this moment, he couldn't remember whether or not the two people he had seen in his old house had been shot or not. He couldn't remember whether or not they were still alive.

"Tim? You still there?"

Tim looked at Danny and then realized that everyone was seated and staring at him.

"Yeah, I am," he said. "I'm sorry..." He extended his apology to everyone there. "I'm sorry for how I'm acting. It's all...so long ago. It shouldn't..."

Gibbs interrupted. "No, McGee. It's all right. You said you had something to tell us?"

Tim nodded. "I'm sorry, Boss. This could have been avoided."

"How?"

"Shands called me, just before I headed home. I told myself that I'd tell everyone in the morning, that I wouldn't worry about it until tomorrow." Tim cleared his throat. "When is it? How long was I...doing whatever it was I was doing?"

"It's been about a day."

Tim laughed a little at the irony. "Oh...so it's tomorrow, huh? I guess I should worry about it now." He laughed again, but knew that it sounded as false as it felt.

Gibbs leaned forward and caught Tim's eye.

"What happened, McGee?"

The calm and collected way Gibbs asked grounded Tim...at least to begin. He took a breath, let it out in a rush and began.

"I told you that Shands called. Well...well, I...I really only thought of it in terms of him...being annoying. I..." Tim cleared his throat. "...I was wrong. When I got back to my apartment, there was man on the sidewalk. He came over to me and asked for directions. I started to get out, but he drew a gun. It was only then that I recognized his voice. I never knew what he looked like. Never...but he knew me. He took my gun and my phone and forced me into the passenger seat of my car." Tim paused. "Did you get my car? It's in the garage, I think."

Tony laughed. "We didn't check, but we'll get it for you, Probie. Don't worry."

"Thanks."

"Go on, McGee," Gibbs said, gently.

"He knocked me out. Hit me with his gun. I didn't really...really wake up until we were in the garage. It was...a nightmare, realizing where I was. Then..." Tim stopped. He stared at the blanket, trying to keep himself in the present and not touch what had happened before. "...when we got upstairs...in my parents' bedroom...he had...had tied up a man and woman on the floor. They were blindfolded, gagged. They were just...just moving a little. Just a little. Not talking."

They couldn't talk...just like...

"Tim?"

Tim looked at his arm. Dan's hand was holding it.

"Sorry," Tim said again.

"You can wait, McGee," Gibbs said. "It's okay to wait."

"No. No, let me...let me do it now."

Gibbs moved his chair closer to the bed. "Okay. You saw them tied up on the floor."

"Right. Yeah. He said that...that he was going to force me to tell him what had happened. ...even if it required...he said another life on my head. He...He shot at the floor, right in between them. ...and I...I..." Tim started cry again. He was a little embarrassed at crying in front of his team, but he couldn't help it. "I started remembering before I...before I even realized I was remembering. I picked up that gun...but not until after my parents were dead. It was...under the bed where they'd dropped it, I guess. ...and I...when I thought he'd shot them...it was like I..." Tim looked at them all. "He _didn't_, did he? Did he really shoot them? I...It all gets so...so fuzzy. They're not dead?" Tim begged to be told that they weren't.

"No, McGee. They aren't. They're fine," Gibbs said.

"They're a little freaked out, Probie," Tony added, "but they're fine."

"Good. Good...He shot at them a few times."

"He never hit them. Not once."

"Good. At least there's...there're two people who didn't die in that room. It was like I...I was almost remembering...every time he fired that gun. Every single time...until...until I fired it. Until it was me. And..." Tim shook his head and tried to laugh. "You see? It's hard to...to keep on topic." Another failed attempt at laughter. Tim looked at Danny. "How am I doing so far, Dr. McGee?"

"You're doing all right, Tim. You _can_ stop, you know. Even as a psychologist, I can tell you that stopping is okay."

"No. I'm going to finish. I can do it. I can. If I'm stuck with all this...then, I can...can at least...get it out. Once."

"McGee."

Tim looked toward Ziva and saw only sympathy.

"Yeah?"

"We will not think any less of you."

"Maybe not...but I will. I will."

"Then, go ahead," Gibbs said.

"I couldn't just sit there and watch as he came closer and closer to shooting them. ...but I couldn't think of anything. I tried. I really did try to remember, but I couldn't. ...and...and so I...I jumped him. I attacked him. ...and mostly because I took him by surprise, I managed to... I _thought_ I'd knocked him out, not that I was thinking very clearly. He wasn't moving. Laying on the floor. So I called you, Boss. Maybe I should have dialed another number, but I couldn't think of anything else. ...but he wasn't knocked out and he went after me again. I had the gun in my hands. He was fighting me for it." Tim could feel the memories gathering once more, ready to pummel him into submission again. The closer he got to the crisis point, the closer the memories came. "I just couldn't keep him away from it. I was trying...but there was all this...stuff going on in my head... It was...then..." Tim felt himself start shaking and he closed his eyes. "Then...the gun went off...and it was like my worst nightmare. It was like...all the times I've been afraid that I killed my parents. All those times that...that I woke up in the night thinking that it was me. Not knowing if it was. ...but this time...this time, it _was_ me." Tim started to cry, but he struggled to keep talking.

Dan's arms were around him again and Tim accepted the comfort, ignoring the faint embarrassment about relying on his father like this again.

"I shot him. Then...I...it was like everything stopped and I was...staring into his eyes. They were so surprised. So surprised...and then I...I felt the...the b-blood from him. I felt it seeping through my shirt...and he started to slide down...down to the floor and I just watched as he fell. It seemed to take forever...forever that I watched him fall...and his eyes closed." Tim felt his breathing take on a strange rhythm. Two quick, jerky inhalations and then one long exhale. "And I had to save him. I couldn't...couldn't be responsible for him dying...and...and I grabbed a shirt from the bed. I grabbed it and I tried to stop the bleeding."

"We heard you screaming," Gibbs said quietly.

Tim looked at him from Dan's sheltering arms.

"I was screaming? I...I don't remember screaming."

"Yes," Ziva said. "You were."

"Oh. Okay. I...was trying to stop him...and then...I heard voices." Tim stopped. He didn't want to go any further. He didn't want to tread those last few steps. ...but he couldn't control the memories yet and he tumbled into them. "I heard voices, Daddy. There's someone downstairs. I heard voices. More than one."

"Tim, stop."

Tim wanted to, but he couldn't. Not this time. He saw his father struggle for a breath he'd never take. He saw his mother with her last dying motion. He saw all that because he'd left the place his father had told him to stay.

"If I hadn't come out of the bathroom...they wouldn't have died. I tried to go back. I tried to take it back." Tim began to cry again. "...but they couldn't...they couldn't...and I was so scared. I tried to take it back. If I just stay in there, it will go away." His voice rose and cracked.

"Tim, open your eyes. It's Danny. Open your eyes. You're not back there. It's not twenty years ago. You're not a little kid. You're an NCIS agent. You're my brother. Come on, Tim. You know when it is. You don't have to relive the memory every time you remember it."

"They came back. They're coming back!"

"No, Tim. They're not. Tim, they're not. Open your eyes." It was an order this time. Tim could hear that much.

He tried to obey. His eyes opened...and he was half surprised to see the hospital room. To see Gibbs, Tony and Ziva all hovering around his bed, Abby, Ducky and Jimmy also on their feet, all looking uncertain of what to do.

The memory began to fade, although it didn't disappear. Tim looked at them. He looked at Danny who had been talking to him...and he managed a weak smile.

"That's what happened."

"What?"

"That's what happened next. I remembered. The gun and...and all the blood...and then the voices downstairs. I heard all that...and I remembered. Do you want to know what happened, Boss?"

"Not right now, McGee," Gibbs said firmly. "You've relived it enough for now."

Tim tried to laugh. "Yeah, I have...but I don't think this is even close to the end of it. I didn't kill them though."

"I never thought you did, Tim," Dan said.

"You know...wh-why it was s-s-so easy to believe?"

"Why?"

"Because...when I s-s-saw them there...o-o-on the floor. I...I thought it w-w-was my fault because they...because I disobeyed Dad. He t-t-told me t-to stay in the bathroom until he c-c-c-came back to g-g-get me...and...and I...it...I didn't stay." Tim was trying so hard to hold back the tears but he couldn't. They insisted on falling. "I didn't stay...and they died."

"It wasn't your fault."

This time, Tim did laugh because that statement had come from at least three different people at exactly the same time.

"I know. I know it wasn't...but it's...hard to keep that...perspective when I keep remembering how I felt back then...at that moment. It just...It just takes over."

"It's okay."

"Yeah. I know." Tim felt himself calm down a little bit more. "Did he survive?"

"Who?"

"Ellis Shands. Did he make it?"

There was a noticeable hesitation among the others.

"What?"

"He's currently in intensive care, McGee. They don't know if he's going to make it or not."

"Hey, he deserved it, McGee," Tony said. "Don't waste a bit of regret on that lowlife."

"No, Tony," Tim said. "No, he...he was nuts, but...but that doesn't mean I have the right to kill him! He didn't shoot them. Even when he had the chance! I'm the only person who shot anyone in there."

"No, McGee," Gibbs said, sighing heavily. "No, that's where you're wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"Boss," Tony said, shaking his head.

"What?" Tim asked again.

Ducky intervened for the first time. "Later, Timothy. It can all be discussed later, after you've rested."

"Not now, it can't," Tim said. "Not now. What? What is it?"

Still no one spoke.

"Come on, guys. You're really starting to scare me. What's going on?"

Ducky came forward and sat down on the bed, staring straight into Tim's eyes, as if forbidding him to do anything but listen.

"Ellis Shands is an alias."

"Okay? And?"

"An alias for Hank Peterson, McGee."

"Hank...Peters–" Tim took a deep breath when he realized where that name came from. "Hank Peterson, the man who left fingerprints at...who probably..." In spite of Ducky's strong gaze, Tim's eyes shifted to Gibbs. "The man who probably killed the Campbells?"

"Yes," Gibbs said, confirming it with a sigh. A single word encompassing so much.

Tim couldn't help spelling it out. It was pounding his brain and he had to say it. "He killed them...and made them look like my parents. He was doing it because of me! He killed them because..."

"Because he's a psycho, McGee," Tony said, interrupting Tim's impending breakdown. "It's not because of you. It's because of him."

"No...No, it's not!"

"Yes, it is. You can't excuse the guy just because he's in the ICU. You can't! You can't let him off the hook like that! He was plenty on the ball enough to get away with murder, to hold two people hostage, to abduct you! He knew what he was doing, McGee! He knew it...and if he feels _any_ regret, it's because he didn't get away with it!"

Tim was suddenly seized with a desperate desire to hide in the bathroom. Had he been any less agitated, he would have resisted, maybe even mentioned it. As it was, he didn't bother with any of that. Instead, he sat up and tried to get out of the bed.

"Tim, where are you going?" Dan asked.

"Leave me alone," Tim said. The first time he'd ever used those words toward Dan. "Leave me alone."

"No way. Where are you going? Or do I need to ask?"

Tim looked at him. "Please," he said.

"No, Tim. No, because you know as well as I do that it never helps. It only makes things worse."

"I want it to go away."

"It can't and it won't," Dan said. "It never will...and hiding in the bathroom won't make that change!"

Tim felt all desire for movement vanish and he covered his head with his hands, sobbing now for the reality he could no longer avoid.

New arms came around him, lifted him up. A voice whispered in his ear.

"Knock it off, Tim."

As no other words could in this moment of upset, those four penetrated Tim's swelling feelings of guilt and he remembered a conversation from long in the past. He looked at Danny, who was holding him, and smiled.

"Being selfish again?" he managed to ask through his tears.

"Exactly."

"I'm sorry."

"Just knock it off and it's okay."

Tim laughed. "I'll try."

"You know what? That's good enough for me."

Tim sagged against Danny, suddenly feeling only exhaustion after the emotional rollercoaster he'd been on.

"Tired?"

"Yeah."

"I think we'd all agree that sleeping is okay right now."

Gibbs stood up. "You've said more than enough, McGee. You want to tell us more later, fine. Just let us know."

"Thanks...thank you." The words weren't enough, but Tim didn't have the energy for more.

His friends filed out, leaving only his family again. Tim looked at them.

"I don't want to be alone."

"You won't be," Dan said. "We'll be right here. All night."

"I'm going to have nightmares."

"We'll be here, Tim...just like we always have been."

Tim let himself lay back down and he closed his eyes, feeling Dan on one side, Maria on the other, knowing that Danny was not far away. For the moment, he felt safe.

Completely safe.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

_Two days later..._

Danny walked out of the hospital early in the morning feeling tired and a little bogged down. After two days of trying to deal with Tim...dealing with all these new memories, he was worn out. It was almost harder to see Tim well aware of his own problems rather than the scared kid he'd been before. With a heavy sigh, he sat down on a bench and rubbed his face with his hands.

"Dr. McGee?"

Danny sat up with a start at the voice and looked around, half-expecting to be back in Pennsylvania.

"Oh...Dr. Mallard. You startled me."

"I beg your pardon. May I join you?"

"Of course. Have a seat."

There was a short silence and Danny found himself talking just to fill it.

"We got a hold of Richard yesterday. That's our brother in Afghanistan."

"Yes, Timothy _has_ mentioned him on occasion."

"Probably was _only_ on occasion, though, right?"

"Yes. He preferred to keep details to himself...for obvious reasons. How did your brother take it all?"

"Well, he made clear what he thought," Danny said, smiling. "But then, Richard generally does. He was furious and...in very colorful terms described just what he thought should be done to Ellis Shands for his actions. ...and it proved just how upset Mom is that she didn't lecture him for his language. She's often lamented how much more Richard swears now that he's in the Army. Dad says that if he'd joined the Navy he'd be less vulgar."

Ducky laughed. "I find that hard to believe."

"Me, too...but usually Richard does try to censor himself. He really couldn't believe it. I couldn't either, actually. The whole thing...it's just...disgusting."

Another silence fell. This time, Ducky broke it.

"How is Timothy doing this morning? He seemed quite traumatized when I last saw him."

"He's...better this morning, but I'd be lying if I said it wouldn't take some time for him to deal with all this."

"He'd hardly be human if he didn't. I have read the police file of what happened to his parents, and thinking of the child he was witnessing that...it makes me ill."

"You're not the only one. I still don't know a whole lot of what went on in there, mostly out of respect for Tim. He didn't want to talk about it and I was okay with that. If he showed no interest in finding out the details, then I wouldn't go behind his back."

"A credit to you, Dr. McGee."

"You don't have to call me that. I'm more comfortable with Danny, to be honest."

"And I'm Ducky."

Danny laughed. "Where did _that_ come from?"

"You know? I can't remember for the life of me who first attached that nickname to me. Not everyone calls me that, of course. Some use my real name, Donald, or its various forms. At NCIS, nearly everyone calls me Ducky. I don't find it a problem." He smiled easily.

"Ducky it is, then. What brings you here, Ducky? I thought you'd be working."

"Oh, I had some free time and chose to come to visit. I'm sure the others will be along later. Where are your parents?"

"Sarah got here yesterday and hung on Tim every second. Mom and Dad decided to take her out for breakfast today to get her out of the hospital. Tim's getting another scan just to make sure everything is okay upstairs. I'm just taking a bit of a break." Danny took a breath. "Sometimes...it's hard being Tim's brother."

"Not surprising with his history."

"Now, that hasn't been the case for a long time. The last time we had _any _trouble was when..."

"What?"

"There was a case a few years ago. Tim thought he might have shot someone."

"Oh, yes. I remember."

"Well...Tim had some real trouble dealing with it at first."

"Really? I knew he'd faced some problems because there was no way of knowing whether or not it had been his gun that had fired the fatal shot."

Danny laughed without humor. "Some problems? Tim didn't sleep through the night for weeks. He didn't always call us, but at first, he did. His old nightmares came back, his old insecurities. Dad finally asked me to talk to him, to try to get him to go back to his shrink. He hadn't been going for a while, not since...well, I think the last time was around when one of his teammates was killed."

"Caitlin Todd."

"Oh. But even before that, he'd been going a lot less, thinking that he was finally in a state where he didn't need that kind of help. ...but when he thought he'd shot that cop. It showed that there were things he just couldn't deal with on his own. You never saw any sign?"

"No. I must confess that none of us knew Timothy was having such trouble."

"He's good at hiding it when he wants to. If he told you all how much trouble he was having, that would have led to questions about why it was so troubling to him."

Ducky nodded. "Leading to questions he wouldn't wish to answer about his past."

Danny nodded in agreement and smiled. "Exactly. You know...it's kind of refreshing talking to someone with your experience, Ducky. Tim's kind of an armchair psychologist when he wants to be, but my being a psychologist has led to a kind of...disconnect in how I see people versus how my family sees people."

"Yes, I can see that. It's always a pleasure to discuss such things...and I must say that I'm pleasantly surprised at the high level of emotional intelligence in your family. You all seem to be very collected and understanding people."

"We've had to be. I went through years of hating Tim when we were younger."

"Because he intruded and brought with him a store of trouble."

"Exactly. Learning to live with him...learning to love him as a brother...once I'd learned that, it was easy dealing with other people."

"You're worried about him."

"Yeah."

"Do you think he can't get through this?"

"I don't know, Ducky." Danny hesitated and then let out his real fear. "I'm afraid that he _won't_ get through it, not because he can't, but because he's so used to carrying this around that he won't know how to let it go...but now he remembers, now he _knows_ what happened...and if he can't learn to let it go...Ducky, it's going to ruin him. That's what scares me. Tim got so far...and now I'm afraid he'll lose it all. And the selfish part of me just doesn't want to deal with it again."

Ducky didn't act surprised nor disgusted. Actually, just the opposite. His expression was sympathetic and understanding.

"I can hardly blame you. It must be difficult."

Danny smiled. "It's been a while since _I_ was the one being analyzed."

"Physician heal thyself."

"Yeah. Thanks for listening, Ducky. I think I needed that."

"I know you did and I'm always more than happy to speak to any member of the McGee family."

"Speaking of which, why don't we go back. Tim's exam should be done by now."

"Lead the way, lad. ...and Danny, may I offer one piece of advice?"

"Sure."

"Don't assume the worst. Timothy is a strong young man. If he has faltered in the face of great struggle, don't assume that he will fall, unable to regain his footing. He has the ability...and I believe he has the desire."

Danny yawned widely. "Maybe when I've had more than a few hours of sleep at a time, I'll be more upbeat."

"Perhaps. Lead the way."

They reached Tim's room but found it empty.

"I guess he's not back yet."

"Oh, hello, is Agent McGee in the bathroom?"

The voice startled the two men and they turned around to see a nurse standing in the doorway.

"No. I thought he was still getting his scan," Danny said.

"He's been finished for about ten minutes or more. He's not in here?"

"No," Danny said but walked to the bathroom and looked inside. It was empty. "No, he's not here."

Danny knew that his worry was showing in his voice as he met Ducky's gaze. Ducky seemed much more calm, but he'd never seen Tim as a teenager suffering from night terrors and wandering around the house. Danny knew the worst that could happen and that frightened him.

Quickly, he strode past the nurse and into the hallway. He looked both ways and then started walking, randomly choosing one direction. Ducky caught up to him.

"Danny, do you think there is cause for this worry?"

"I think there _could_ be and..." Danny paused briefly to look Ducky in the eye. "I learned a long time ago the harm that can come from not thinking there's a problem. I'm not willing to take that chance again. I can't. Not when it's Tim." Then, he kept going. Ducky walked with him through the halls. It seemed like they were walking forever, but Danny knew it was only because he worried. In reality, it was only about five minutes before they saw Tim standing alone, looking through a window. He had a robe on but was obviously only wearing a hospital gown underneath it. He didn't seem upset, merely intent.

"This must be where our friend Shands is being held," Ducky murmured beside him.

Danny looked at the ME in surprise and then followed Ducky's gaze to the armed guards standing by the door. That must be it.

"I think I'm with Richard," he muttered and then walked over to Tim and hugged him tightly.

"Danny!" Tim said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Danny released him with a clout on his shoulder. "What are _you_? We got to your room and you'd vanished."

Tim flushed. "I...I knew he was somewhere here. I just wanted to see how he was doing." He looked through the window.

Ellis Shands was lying on a bed, handcuffed to it. He had more monitors and machines on him than seemed possible for one human being to need.

"He's still alive," Tim said softly, "but there's no guarantee that he'll survive. I asked one of the doctors. He said that there's only a slight chance he'll ever come out of it. It was a miracle he survived long enough for the EMTs to get him here in the first place."

Something about the way Tim spoke made Danny pause. He'd been ready to start lecturing Tim...much like a parent, but he stopped...and waited. He sensed Ducky standing behind, but he was also keeping silent.

There was a period of silence.

"He got a chance," Tim said, voice still quiet. Then, he swore. Loudly. ...and he turned his back on the man who had forced him to remember his past and walked down the hall.

"Tim?" Danny asked.

Tim kept walking, taking short shallow breaths through his mouth as he strode through the hallways back to his room.

"He got a chance! They never got a chance!" He stopped suddenly, causing Danny to nearly careen into him. Tim swore again (giving Richard a run for his money). "Why does someone like _him_ get a chance? How is that _fair_?"

"It's not," Danny said. "It's _not_ fair."

Tim shook his head and continued to walk until he got back to his room. He sat down on the bed.

"I tried to save him." Tim took a couple of quick breaths. "I didn't try to save them."

"You were ten years old, Tim," Danny said.

"I tried to save a murdering piece of... and my parents...who never...I just watched them die!"

The strange thing about the conversation was that Tim wasn't crying. He wasn't freaking out. He was angry. Angry at himself. Angry at the situation. ...and probably was hiding from the anguish he must still be feeling.

"Tim!" Danny said, sitting down in front of him. "Tim, you were a kid! Did you have the faintest idea of what to do?"

"I'd learned CPR!"

Danny laughed, although it wasn't because he thought it was funny. "Tim...that wouldn't have helped. Nothing would have helped. From what you've described...your parents didn't have a chance. No matter what you might have tried to do."

"But I didn't _try_ to do anything."

"Doesn't matter."

"Why not?"

"Because it all happened a long time ago...and the choices you made a few days ago don't, in any way, negate the things that happened back then."

"But did they happen?" Tim whispered.

"What?"

Tim looked at Danny and then past him to Ducky.

"Ducky?"

"Yes, Timothy."

"Hi."

Danny heard Ducky chuckle.

"Hello, lad. You're looking better."

"Thanks. Can I ask you something?"

"Certainly."

"Danny...you could probably answer it, too...but this is the kind of question that you...you would probably tell me to knock it off again...but I need to know. So...would you let me ask Ducky about this?"

Danny smiled and got off the bed. "I can do that, I think."

"Thanks." Tim looked at Ducky. "I asked you about repressed memories a couple of weeks ago. Remember?"

"Yes, Timothy, I do," Ducky said, pulling a chair up to the bed where Tim sat, fidgeting a little bit.

"You said that...that there have been cases where people have...have created false memories of the past and believed them."

"Yes."

Tim laughed. "Ducky...that has to be the shortest answer you've ever given."

Ducky smiled gently. "What is it that you're asking, Timothy?"

"Could I have made up what I remembered?" Tim asked, speaking quickly. "Is it possible that I created my memories of what happened to my parents?"

"Tim..." Danny began.

Tim looked at him and shook his head. "No, Danny. This is important." He looked back at Ducky. "Is it possible, Ducky?"

"Possible? Certainly. It's possible that you did...but I find the possibility to be remote. Most of the cases of false memories are those of childhood sexual abuse. There are theories of why it happens. One is that the person has a vague uncomfortable feeling that they can't explain and instead choose to explain via a traumatic encounter."

"Choose?"

"Choose in the sense that they think they remember such an occurrence and generally truly believe it."

"What other reasons are there?"

"The more common is that a therapist whether deliberately or through a genuine belief that they are helping, use techniques such as hypnosis to plant the false memory in their patient's mind and then foster that memory until it becomes something that is wholly believed. There have been some tragic cases of families being torn apart through such things."

"So...why don't you think that _I_ fall into that category?" Tim asked, his voice shaky.

"For the simple reason that there is ample outside evidence to support what you have said. This is not a case of an out-of-the-blue belief in an instance of childhood abuse. This is a case of a documented crime having taken place and the things you have remembered fit in with the evidence in hand. In fact, it would be more likely that, if you were creating a false memory, that your memory would fit in with what others have tried to imprint upon you."

Tim furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I am speaking of the aborted attempt in your childhood to lead you to the idea that you had shot your own parents accidentally and of the much more recent attempt to force you to speak by means of threatening the safety of others. If it were a case of your trying to _create_ a false memory, it is much more likely that you would have done so to fit with the suggestions given to you. ...something that you never did. I read the police report on your parents' case, and one of the strengths is the continued insistence that you didn't remember and that your reaction to the subtle cajoling of the psychiatrist was instant panic and fear. Yes, you had that possibility in your mind and it probably affected you more than it should have, but you never believed it. You simply feared that it was indeed the case."

"And so...how reliable do you think my memories are now?"

"I think it is possible that they are very reliable. There are people who would disagree with me. Psychologists are still debating this issue of memory, are they not, Danny?"

Danny nodded. "It's true. There's even a group called the False Memory Syndrome Foundation and I think they believe that there's no way of retrieving a childhood memory with any degree of reliability. They've done studies with people and the way that false memories can be implanted in someone's mind. However, there are also studies of people who have suffered from trauma who have repressed the memory for some span of time and then recovered it later on their own. I don't think the debate is going to be resolved any time soon. Basically, the general practice to exercise caution in cases of repressed memories."

Tim nodded silently.

"But you think that my memories are probably real...and accurate?"

"To the degree that a child's memories are accurate, yes," Ducky said. "You were ten years old when your parents were killed."

Tim winced and images the statement conjured up and closed his eyes. Ducky touched his hand.

"And you were, to my knowledge, an intelligent and observant child. What you say you remember is more than likely real. ...but Timothy...why are you asking this now? Wishful thinking?"

Tim managed a weak smile as he opened his eyes. "No, Ducky," he said shaking his head. "...well, maybe that was part of it, but no. That's not why."

"Then, why?" Danny asked.

"Because...I think I might...know who killed my parents."


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Tim's pronouncement threw both Danny _and_ Ducky for a loop, and they decided that if Tim was going to tell his story, it should be done with everyone he wanted to tell rather than piecemeal. Tim had no problem waiting. He wasn't looking forward to this. Not in the slightest...but if there was a possibility of getting something out of the horror now dwelling in his conscious mind, he would do it. This was his chance to do something for his parents. Finally, after all these years.

It wasn't until the evening that everyone was able to gather together again. This time, it wasn't in Tim's hospital room. Tim was back in street clothes and had gotten permission to use one of the meeting rooms. He didn't like the ignominy of lying in a hospital bed with everyone hovering around him. He might indeed fall apart again, but he could at least _try_ acting normally...for the moment.

Everyone was looking at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to start talking...but Tim really didn't know how to begin. This wasn't going to be some sort of Clue situation where he pointed and said, "Miss Scarlet in the hall with the lead pipe." It was a lot more vague, but he hoped that there was some way of getting concrete evidence out of his recollections. He wanted to provide that. Somehow.

Throwing open the door, Abby finally joined them. She had come in with everyone else but then realized she'd left something in her car.

"Found it!" she declared and ran over to Tim. She kissed him on the cheek and then pressed a small object wrapped in newspaper into his hand. "This is for you."

"What is it?"

"Open it and see!"

Tim hesitated. This was Abby after all. There was no telling what could be concealed beneath that innocent layer of paper.

"Oh, Tim...I wouldn't have got you anything embarrassing. Not with your parents here to see!"

Tim blushed bright red and Abby grinned at his reaction.

"Just open it, Tim!"

Not daring to look up and see what expression was on everyone's faces, Tim focused his attention on the paper. He carefully pulled it off and was left staring at a mottled green flat stone with a dent in the middle of it.

"You got me a rock?"

"No! It's a worry stone! When you get worried, just rub the stone and it will take all your cares away!"

Tim smiled as he looked at Abby's gift. If only it were truly that easy.

"Thanks, Abbs."

"You're welcome. Just keep hold of it while you're talking to us. Everything will be okay."

Another kiss on his cheek and Abby sat down.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Tim?" Dan asked him quietly.

"Yes. Yes, if I have to...have to have all this in my head, then maybe I can get something good out of it."

"All right. Where do you want to start?"

"I don't know," Tim confessed. He looked up at everyone in the room...and then paused on Ziva. "Ziva...do you remember what I told you about my dad?"

Ziva smiled. "You told me that he was magic because he could start ants on fire with a magnifying glass."

Tim laughed. "About him wanting to raise me to be a gentleman."

"Oh, yes. You said it was after he had come home angry about some of his students."

Tim nodded. "Exactly. That wasn't the only time he'd been angry about these same students."

"How do you know they were the same ones, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

Tim looked at Gibbs. There might have been some skepticism in his expression, but Tim couldn't be sure. All he knew was that he had to be able to answer these questions...and do so right.

"Because I..." He flushed a little. "I eavesdropped one night and listened."

There were a few soft chuckles around the room.

"I was supposed to be in bed, but Dad had come home really angry again. It was right at the end of the school year. A few weeks after the first time he'd been upset. He hadn't yelled about it, but I remember that he was still mad about _something_. I wanted to know what it was because Dad didn't get angry very often...at least not that he showed me."

"He talked after you were supposed to go to bed?" Dan asked.

"Yeah. ...but he was talking to Mom in the study and that's right below my bedroom. I... It's how I heard the..." Tim stopped talking and stared at his hands. He felt Dan put a hand on his back. With a deep breath he forced himself to push the memory away and looked up again. "I snuck out of bed and sat on the stairs."

"What did you hear?" Gibbs asked.

"There were three students who...who had been found doing some bad things. I don't know what they all were because...because I didn't start listening at the beginning of the conversation. I came down later. It must have been some sort of bullying or something like that because of what I heard. Dad said that he had showed the headmaster the squirrels."

"Squirrels?" Ziva asked in surprise.

"Yeah. Apparently, these three kids..." Tim laughed. "Kids. They were older than I was. Juniors, I think. ...but they'd been caught skinning squirrels alive."

"Yuck!" Abby exclaimed. "Gross!"

"Yeah. That's what I thought. Dad was furious. He had taken them to the main office and had demanded that their parents be contacted and that they be expelled...and that the police be notified about the things they'd been doing."

"Because of a few squirrels?" Tony asked. "Yeah, it's gross, but it's not something that I'd call the police for."

"That's why I think it must have been...something more, and Dad kept referring to other things but he wasn't ever explicit while I was listening."

"So what was making him so angry, Tim?" Danny asked. "It must have been something more than just catching the kids."

"It was. Dad told Mom that...the school refused to expel the students, said that it was just something that kids got up to and that if they agreed to transfer to another school for their final year, nothing would go in their records."

"What?" Dan asked. "You're kidding."

"No."

"I know Levi. He wouldn't have been happy about that."

"He wasn't. These weren't the kids of famous people, but the school had a very good reputation and the tuition meant that really only rich kids got in. The only reason Dad stayed there after this was because the pay was so much better than at public schools. But that night, he was so angry that he was saying it wasn't worth it, that he wasn't going to put up with kids like that."

Tim fell silent again trying to remember what his dad had said.

"They had threatened him, I think...but I...I can't be sure about that. I might be..." He looked at Ducky and smiled slightly. "I might be making that up."

"Go on, lad," Ducky said, not commenting.

Tim nodded. "Mom didn't say much, but when Dad kicked or punched the door, she told him he was getting too worked up about it. ...that's when they caught me on the stairs."

"_Levi."_

"_What?" Levi asked, still angry._

_Tim met his mother's eyes and didn't move. _

"_Your son is listening," Nora said softly._

_The door to the study swung open and Tim pulled back just a little. He'd never seen his dad so angry before...not even when he'd been caught touching one of his guns before knowing how to use it. ...but then, the anger faded and Levi walked out of the study to the stairs._

"_Tim?"_

"_Yeah, Dad?"_

"_Come on down."_

_Tim got up and walked down the stairs and then followed Levi into the kitchen._

"_Were you listening?"_

"_Yes, Dad."_

"_Why?"_

"_You were mad. I wanted to know why."_

"_How much did you hear? What were we talking about when you started listening?"_

_Tim couldn't tell if Dad was angry or not._

"_You told Mom about the squirrels...and said it was just like...other things. That...That..."_

"_Tigers don't change their stripes."_

"_Yeah, that was it."_

_Levi looked at him for a few seconds without speaking._

"_Are you mad at me now, Dad?"_

"_Do you think I should be?"_

"_Probably. I'm not supposed to eavesdrop. ...and I was supposed to be in bed."_

"_That's true."_

"_Are you scared of your students?"_

"_No," Levi said firmly. "No, there's nothing to be scared of. I just don't like it when people get away with doing things that are wrong."_

"_Am I grounded?"_

_Finally, Levi smiled. "No. I shouldn't have been so angry, and I shouldn't have been shouting when you could hear so easily. That was my fault. I believe that it's Friday?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_Why don't we watch a movie?"_

"_Really?"_

"_Yeah, if your mom doesn't mind."_

_Tim smiled. "I'd like that!"_

"_Okay."_

_Tim bit his lip for a moment. "Dad?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_I'm sorry for listening."_

"_That's okay. You do need to be careful. Lots of times...when you're not supposed to listen. I didn't want you hear all that, and I'm glad you didn't hear it all. Sometimes, you can hear bad things when you listen if you're not supposed to. Remember that."_

"_Okay."_

"_Good. Then, we don't need to talk about it anymore. What movie should we watch?"_

"And that was it?" Tony asked.

"Yeah."

"What movie did you watch?" Abby asked.

Tim laughed. "_Ladyhawke._"

"Good choice," Tony said. "I like it. Man, if my dad had caught me eavesdropping, he would never have let me watch a movie after. I'd be grounded."

Tim smiled but then met Gibbs' gaze again.

"Why do you think this is related, McGee?"

The smile faded. "Because of what I heard...that night."

"What did you hear?" Gibbs asked, his voice soft, not pushing.

"I don't know what time it was," Tim said. He stopped and began rubbing the worry stone so hard that it was warm in his hand. "I'd been asleep. Mom and Dad were in bed. All the lights were off. I heard voices in the study."

"How many?"

"More than one. I couldn't tell you how many. It sounded like a lot to me when I heard them because I knew it wasn't Mom or Dad...and that meant it was someone who shouldn't be there. I was scared."

"Naturally," Ducky said. "What did you do? Did you go downstairs?"

"No. I went to my parents. Mom and Dad always left their bedroom door slightly ajar just in case I needed them for something. I went in and woke up Dad. I told him that I'd heard something and Mom tried to call for help but the phone wasn't working. So...Dad told me to hide in the bathroom...and not to listen. ...and...I didn't hear anything." Tim closed his eyes and fought against the fear that was making him want to shout. "Not at first," he said, clenching his teeth. The worry stone was very warm in his hand. "Not at first."

"Tim, do you need a break?" Danny asked.

"No. Just...give me a few seconds. Just... Just..." There were arms around him and Tim breathed in and out, trying to keep it at an even rhythm.

"McGee, we can..."

"No. I'm okay. I'm okay." Tim opened his eyes and sat up, stubbornly meeting Gibbs' eyes. "I...don't know what happened downstairs, but somehow they must have overpowered my dad. I know that they brought him back upstairs and they were surprised to see Mom. I don't know what Mom was doing. I didn't see. I was just waiting in the bathroom...for Dad to come back. That's...when I heard..." Tim took a deep breath forcing himself to keep looking at Gibbs. "That's when I heard them talking."

"What did you hear?" Gibbs asked.

"They saw my mom and said she was pretty...and then...then, they asked him if they should dress her up like they were going to dress him...and asked him if that would make him a troublemaker. ...and they called him Mr. McGee."

"And then?"

"Then..." Tim couldn't help but tear up. "Mom screamed. She screamed and then...the first...first shot. Then, Dad started to...say something and there was a second. ...and then there was nothing. Nothing. They ran down the stairs and...and I...I know I wasn't supposed to leave. I promised, but it was so quiet. ...and Dad wasn't coming back. ...and if everything was okay..."

"You don't have to tell us what you saw there, Tim," Gibbs said. "It's not necessary."

"No...I know you know. I know that I don't need to describe it for you...but I do for me." Tim smiled. "If I don't...it's going to keep sticking in my head."

"Okay. Go ahead."

"I came out. Mom was...moving a little on the floor by the bed. She was alive but not for long. No face. Just blood. She couldn't make any sound. Dad was over by the door and he was still alive, too. He saw me. He reached out to me, but all there was was a kind of gurgling or sucking noise...because he was...trying to breathe but he couldn't...couldn't make any sounds, couldn't speak to me...but he tried...and blood came out of his mouth and then he died. They were both dead and I didn't know what to do. ...but then I heard them coming back and I went back into the bathroom and hid in the hamper again. ...and I thought...that if I stayed in the bathroom...that...that if I waited for Dad to come...if I just waited...he'd come...because that's what he said he'd do...and I tried not to listen but I couldn't help it."

Tim felt his lower lip quivering and he tried to stop it. It was wrong that he was sitting here crying his eyes out while trying to give important information. ...but he couldn't keep looking at Gibbs when he was acting like a child. He dropped his gaze to the table and tried to hold back a whimper. ...but one escaped and he was ashamed. Ashamed of his reaction, ashamed of the tears that were falling from his cheeks to splash on the table, ashamed that he was still acting like a child.

No one spoke while Tim cried, but he couldn't meet anyone's eyes. Then, he sensed some movement and Danny moved away, making way for someone else to sit beside him. A hand on his back and then a voice, quiet, meant for his ears only.

"McGee."

Tim looked to the side. Sure enough. It was Gibbs beside him.

"Yeah?"

"You have nothing to prove to me. Not now."

Tim laughed through his tears. "Not anymore?" The question was almost a squeak.

"Not anymore. We can wait."

"No. I need to finish. Now."

"Okay. What did you hear?"

Tim forced the words out through his tears, although he knew he'd sounded better. "It...was an accident...killing my mom. They...there were two talking...they...didn't know what to do because they were dead. And...and one said that they'd...make it look...like there was a reason...and...and that...they'd do what they'd planned. And...so one came into the bathroom...and...and I-I thought...he'd find me. He didn't. He started...there was a horrible smell...and I guess...it was the dye. He mixed it up and then...he threw the towel on me in the hamper. He threw it and walked out. ...and I heard all these sounds and the smell was so bad. I didn't come out, not until later. Because...because Daddy told me not to. ...and it was so quiet...and dark...and...empty...only it wasn't empty. They were out there. ...and I was afraid."

"Of what?"

"That they'd come back...come back and find me...and do to me what they did to Mom and Dad. ...and I knew the gun was out there. ...and so I went out. It had been a while. It was light outside again. They were...on the floor...in those clothes...and the...the...hair...and the nail polish. ...and there were..." Now Tim felt sick. "There were...bugs...all over...and I saw the gun on the floor by the bed...and I...I got it." Absurdly, Tim suddenly felt that he had to justify picking up the gun. "I didn't know about fingerprints. I didn't know about...about anything and...I...I...tried to ask permission first. ...but Daddy wouldn't answer."

Gone was any attempt at dignity. Now, Tim was just determined to finish his story come what may. He didn't care what they thought of him now. All he wanted was to get the whole story told. Just once. There were two hands rubbing his back now. Gibbs and Dan both were sitting beside him. The others were there, but the only other sensation of which Tim was aware was the worry stone in his hand. It was almost painful now, as he rubbed at it.

"And so I took it anyway and I told myself I wouldn't go out again, that I'd wait for Daddy. ...but that night...I was scared and I came out...and I slept by them...between them. I lay down on the floor and slept by them...but the bugs got on me and I...ran into the bathroom when I felt them and turned on the water in the shower to get them off and I used...Dad's...special shampoo." Tim laughed, remembering how his father had even labeled the bottle _Dad's Special Shampoo_. "I showered...and I...I tried to get clean and I held that gun. I never put it down. Not ever. ...but they never came back...and I...can't really...tell you what I did after that. I don't know...after that first day...everything just kind of...blends together. I just remember..."

"What, Tim?"

"The smell. It was so bad, but I couldn't leave because Daddy hadn't...come to get me yet. It was hot. Humid. ...and...they were rotting."

Tim nearly gagged at the memory but he managed to keep that final indignity from occurring.

"That's it. ...that's it."

And Tim let himself stop talking and just cry.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Gibbs moved away and was replaced by Maria. She and Dan hugged Tim tightly as he cried. No one else tried to speak until Tim was calmer. He was shaking but finally, he was able to look up, half-expecting some derision or fear, maybe even revulsion after what he'd related...sleeping next to dead bodies, running in fear of bugs, talking to the dead and a ten-year-old boy armed with a gun. He saw none of that, only concern, some shock. Abby got up, ran around the table and hugged Tim, trying to squeeze the life out of him.

"Oh, Tim..." she whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Me, too."

"McGee?"

"Yeah, Boss?" Tim responded, noting how wimpy his voice was after all the crying.

"You're sure of this?"

Tim understood what he was being asked and he took a breath, trying to sound more like an agent than a terrified child. "They weren't old. There were at least three of them. I don't know if there were more. Two were in the bedroom...after my parents were dead. I heard them talking. ...and they mentioned someone named Ryan. He must not have been in the room, but he had been holding the gun. Maybe he shot my Mom. Maybe not. I don't know. They definitely called him Mr. McGee. They talked about him looking like a troublemaker and it sounded...to me now like it was prank. They were getting revenge...but I don't think they had planned on killing my parents. They just...didn't really think."

"Are you excusing them, McGee?" Ziva asked.

"No!" Tim said instantly. Loudly. "No, I'm not. I'm trying to...understand how someone could do what they did...and it...makes sense if it was an accident. They still committed murder and still hid it. Would they have killed me if they'd seen me? I don't know. ...and I don't know if I'm right and it's my dad's students, but no one ever asked me about anything related to Dad's work. I don't know if they investigated, but if I'm right...if I'm...right about this...there would be no record for them to follow. The students weren't at Dad's school anymore. They'd transferred. No record was made according to my dad. No reason for them to ask. Maybe if...if I'd heard them talk...maybe if I'd seen them. I don't know...maybe nothing but back then...because I couldn't remember...there was no reason for them to investigate that."

"I wasn't going to blame you, McGee," Gibbs said.

"I know."

"And don't blame yourself."

"I don't...not when I'm thinking," Tim said, smiling weakly.

"Keep thinking, then."

"I'll try."

Another silence fell.

"So...what happens now?" Sarah asked suddenly.

"What do you mean, Sarah?" Tim asked.

"What happens? You've said that you know. You've told what you know. So...now what? Do you go after them?"

"We'll have to see if we can find them. ...but it won't be us doing it," Tony said.

"Why not?"

"My parents weren't Navy, Sarah," Tim said. "Baltimore PD will have to decide to reopen the case. I'll have to tell them...hopefully a bit more calmly. ...and they'll decide whether or not I'm credible."

"What if they don't?"

"Then...that's it."

"That's _it_?" Sarah repeated in disbelief. "You'd let it go like that? Tim...these people ruined your life! I remember what you were like when you were younger! They shouldn't..."

"Get away with it," Tim finished. "No...but what do you want me to do? Be like...like Hank Peterson who was willing to...to commit..." He stopped and stared at the table again.

"I'm sorry, Tim," Sarah whispered. "I'm sorry. I didn't think."

"I'll tell them what I've remembered and they can decide what they're going to do."

"What if they don't decide to do anything?"

"I'll... have to live with it...like I have for over twenty years."

Another silence.

"Could we talk to McGee for a few minutes?" Gibbs asked.

"Of course," Dan said. "Tim, is that all right?"

"Yeah, Dad. It's fine," Tim said, his gaze back on the table.

One by one, his family got up and left the room. Someone sat down in each vacated chair close to him.

"Timothy, how are you feeling?" Ducky asked, gently.

Tim managed a smile...at the table. "Not great."

"Any better now that you have told your story?"

"Not really. I guess that'll come."

"Eventually, I'm sure it will."

Tim nodded slightly. He wasn't sure he really believed it.

"What do you need to talk to me about, Boss?" he asked, still staring at the table.

"Do you _want_ to pursue this, McGee?"

Tim lifted his head. "Of course."

"Are you sure, Probie? People will be skeptical, you know. ...a guy suddenly remembering events from twenty years ago. I mean...of course you're telling the truth, but..."

"I know."

"And it cannot be us who investigates...although I would like to. More than investigate," Ziva added.

Tim smiled. "I know that, too. I knew that when I first started thinking about what my memories might mean...but I have to do this...even if they end up not listening. I have to...try."

"And if they don't listen?" Gibbs asked.

"I guess that'll be it," Tim said.

"Will it be enough?" Ziva asked.

"No," Tim said honestly. "But I don't know that anything _could _be. I forgot what happened for a reason...and I don't like knowing. I wish I didn't. ...but no matter what happens, it can't be enough...enough to...to make up for all that."

"Do you want to try a civil case?"

"No," Tim said firmly. "I'm not going to try and get rich off my parents' murders. That's not what this is about."

"You don't have to get rich off it, but it would be a way to find the people who killed them."

"No. That's the end of it. If I can't get a case opened to look at it again, a criminal case, that's the end of it."

"Okay, McGee."

"I think they'll release me soon," Tim said. "I can go and talk to the police about everything and...and see what will happen."

Everyone stood, except Tim. His legs felt like they were made of rubber and he didn't think he could actually stand up at the moment. Each of them stopped to touch his shoulder or say something briefly comforting.

"Did it help?" Abby asked.

"I think it's ready to burst into flames," Tim confessed, holding up the stone. Abby touched it and smiled...and then hugged him again.

"Everything will be okay, Tim."

Tim just nodded and waited for everyone to leave so that he could give in to the wiped out feeling he had.

...but one presence did not recede when Tim turned his attention back to the table. That presence sat down by him.

"McGee?"

Tim looked up.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Tim forced a smile. "Haven't you heard enough from me yet?"

"I don't want to talk about your parents."

"What else is there right now?"

"Quite a bit actually," Gibbs said wryly.

"What do you need to talk about, Boss?"

"Do you still think you have to prove something to me, McGee?"

Tim couldn't think where this was going...so he stalled.

"What could I have to prove to you, Boss?"

Gibbs smiled. "That you're not the same kid I interviewed ten years ago?"

Tim blushed and looked away. His first interview with NCIS still embarrassed him even now.

"There's a very good reason why I wasn't usually the agent in charge of applicant interviews."

"Yeah."

"I was wrong."

Tim shook his head quickly, although he still couldn't muster up the courage to look back at Gibbs.

"No, you were right. I wasn't ready then. My reaction proved it. Agents have to be able to deal with stuff like that all the time...and I...I couldn't."

"Yeah, you could."

"No. Don't you remember? I hid in the men's room until you forced me to come out...and I still couldn't face you. I don't think I looked up from the ground until I was back at my hotel room. I figured everyone could see what a miserable failure I was. I felt humiliated."

"But you came back."

"Well, yeah."

"No. That's important, Tim."

"Why?"

"Because it shows how much you wanted it."

"I wouldn't have applied in the first place if I hadn't."

"And you were rejected."

"Yeah, I remember that, Boss."

"But you tried again."

"I know."

"But I don't think you know how impressive it was. To me."

Tim turned to face Gibbs.

"I figured you were annoyed that I had tried again...when you saw me with Agent Pacci. I figured that you were wishing that I'd just stayed away."

Gibbs shook his head. "No. Actually, I made a point of seeing how you did. I knew that you got hired."

"I thought you'd probably forgotten. You didn't act like you recognized me at Norfolk."

"I didn't...until later."

Tim smiled a little. "I wanted to get on your team."

"Why?"

"Because...you're the one who thought I wasn't good enough. I figured if I could be good enough to be on _your _team, then no one else could possibly have any complaints."

"Do you still think you have to prove something to me?"

Tim shrugged.

"No, McGee. I mean it. Putting yourself through all this today. You didn't have to. We didn't need to hear it all. Not ever, but certainly not all at once when you're still dealing with it yourself. Why do it?"

"To...see if I could...to see if I could...get past it, get through it all...now...not later, not in another twenty years. Not even in the five years it took me the first time. I don't have...I can't fight that fight again, Boss. It took me years and I don't..." Tim shrugged and looked at the worry stone in his hand. "I don't want to wait that long. I can't."

"Who says you will?"

"No one, but you never saw me when I was young, Boss. You didn't have to see me with my blank stares and hiding in the bathroom and sleeping on the floor...not being able to explain why I had to do it, not being able to...to _be_ a real kid. You didn't go through all the sleepless nights my aunt and uncle did, the days of me wandering around the house in a fog."

Tim felt Gibbs grab his arms and shake him a little.

"Tim...that's not something you have to assume is going to happen."

"I know...but I'm still afraid of it...all that. It was like living in a nightmare, only one that lasted for years. A nightmare where you can't see what it is that's so scary, but you know it's there. I just...I couldn't wake up from it, Boss." Tim shook his head. "I remember every moment from those years. Those psychiatrists Ducky told me about, the ones who believe that you can't trust memories...they're full of _crap_, Boss! I remember! If I take the time to think about it...I remember it like it just happened...worse, I remember like it's _still_ happening! Why do you think I never wanted to talk about it? Why I never mentioned it, not to anyone? It's because of...of how awful the little I knew was. It was so much easier to be happy when I didn't have to think about it."

"And now?"

"Now...I can't think of anything else," Tim said but then stopped. "No, that's not true, but it keeps intruding, and I'm afraid it always will. I need to know if I can work through it...still be normal...still be..."

"What?"

Tim looked up and met Gibbs' gaze. "I want to be happy, Boss. That's my dream, and I've had it for a long time...but now...I'm not."

"Why not?" Gibbs asked, not looking away. "What have you lost?"

"A good night's sleep?" Tim joked weakly.

"You're trying to tell me you never slept badly before?"

"I've lost... It's not what I've lost. It's what I've gained. Memories that I...I don't want. The funny thing is that I thought I did before, but I don't. I don't need to remember how my parents looked as they died. I don't need to remember..." Tim was irritated when he felt the tears again. "...I don't...need to remember how I felt when I looked at them. I don't need to know that!"

"Tim, how long has it been since you remembered?"

"Two days?"

"Two days," Gibbs repeated.

"It seems like forever."

"But it's two days."

Tim struggled to smile again. "Your point?"

"After two days you think that you'll suddenly be over it?"

"It's not after two days. It's twenty-three years."

"No, McGee, it's two days. It doesn't matter that it happened when you were ten years old if you're just remembering it now. And guess what."

"What?"

"You proved yourself to me eight years ago. You don't need to bother now."

"Eight years? I think you might be off a bit, Boss. I've only been on your team for seven years."

"No. I'm not. Eight years. From the time you showed that you were competent and not only competent but good at your job...and you did that the first case at Norfolk."

"I nearly threw up."

"But you didn't."

"I stammered."

"And you did your job."

Tim shrugged again. "That's really not a big thing I did."

"You said you wanted to be on my team, McGee. ...well, I wanted you on my team, too."

"Couldn't tell."

Gibbs smiled. "I don't like to tip my hand."

Tim laughed.

"So...McGee, don't try to prove that you're good enough. I already know you are. Is this really what you want to do?"

Tim thought about it and then he looked at the worry stone Abby had given him once more.

"Yeah, this is what I want."

"Okay. Then, it's going to happen. No matter what."

"Not no matter what, Boss. You can't..."

Gibbs stood up and leaned over. "No matter what, McGee. If this is what you want and what you need, it's gonna happen. Are we clear?"

"Clear, Boss."

"Good. You feel like standing yet?"

Tim flushed, but he was surprised that he didn't feel more embarrassed about Gibbs knowing he'd been that shaky.

"Not just yet, Boss."

"Okay. I'll tell your parents."

He headed for the door.

"Boss?"

"Yeah, McGee?"

"Thank you. ...for telling me."

"After eight years, I figured you might want to know."

Tim laughed. "Really. Thanks."

Gibbs just nodded and left.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

_Three days later..._

Tim finally screwed up his courage enough to go to Baltimore PD and tell them about what he knew of his parents' murders. He glossed over everything that had happened surrounding the important information, the elements that were harder for him to relate. He had come in alone, wanting to present himself as a calm and collected man...and try to get rid of the image they must have had from his breakdown the week before.

The detectives sat and listened as he explained everything. It took some time and they asked a few questions. ...and then Tim left. Gibbs, Dan and Maria were waiting for him when he came out (Danny had to go back to Pennsylvania).

"So?" Dan asked.

Tim shrugged and walked toward the car without speaking.

"Tim?"

Still nothing.

"Tim!"

Tim stopped but he didn't turn around.

"McGee, what is it?"

Tim let them get ahead of him.

"They thanked me and said that they'd look into it when they had the time. Nothing's going to happen," Tim said.

"How do you know?"

"They didn't probe, Mom," Tim said. "They didn't ask any verifying questions. They listened to what I said and only tried to clarify things I couldn't tell them."

"Like what?" Gibbs asked.

Tim knew he sounded bitter as he explained. "What the time was. How many people there were. Age, education, the exact position of the bodies on the floor. I was _ten_! I don't remember whether...whether they were... I just..." Tim let out a swift exhalation. "They weren't interested in knowing what I had to say. They were only listening because they saw me freak out last week. They're not going to look...or at least not very hard, and after twenty years it'll take hard looking to find out who it was. So...that's it. Nothing is going to happen."

"What are you going to do?" Dan asked.

"Nothing," Tim said. "I'm not going to do anything. There's nothing _to_ do. All there is is...just ...going on as I have in the past...and trying to live with it. That's it." Tim turned on his heel again and strode to the car. He didn't want to cry. Not again. He didn't want to be angry, even though he was.

Dan and Maria got in the car with him and they headed back to Silver Spring. Tim didn't offer any words and they didn't try to force him to speak. Instead, the car was quiet all the way.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Are you ready to see this, Ziva?" Tony asked as they paused outside the apartment door.

It had taken a day to track down Ellis Shands' apartment. The Baltimore police had enough on their plate that, with the testimonies of Jill and Aaron, they weren't too worried about finding the motivations behind the bizarre crime. The man himself still barely clung to life in the hospital, but NCIS had found where he had been living as Ellis Shands, in a small basement apartment in the Baltimore neighborhood of Arlington. According to the owner, he had been living there for a couple of years, always paid his rent on time and wasn't very friendly. She seemed unsurprised that he was being investigated for some crime and was more than willing to give them access.

"Are _you_ ready?" she asked in return.

"Of course."

"Then, unlock the door. One would think you were afraid of what we will find."

Tony laughed a bit too quickly and did as Ziva bid. They drew their guns but that was mostly a formality. They didn't expect to find anyone in the apartment...and they didn't. ...but what they did find was...disturbing. Not horrible. Not worse than they'd seen before, just...disturbing.

Ziva and Tony stood in the door, looking around the long narrow room that served as both kitchen and living room. Every spare inch of wall space had something tacked up on it. A small table was piled high with files and folders, complemented by another large pile on the floor. There was a computer sitting on a futon but beyond that, there was very little of note. A man lived here but had nothing personal anywhere.

"He is...very thorough," Ziva said quietly, pointing at a small bookcase, mostly full of old law books. Mostly. "He has a copy of _Deep Six_."

"Well? Where do you want to start? Files? Computer? Or walls?"

"I will...start with the files," Ziva said and walked over to the table. She began documenting the position of all the files on the floor and on the table.

"I'll take the walls," Tony said, following suit.

"Does that mean that when Gibbs arrives, you will make him examine the computer?" Ziva asked with a grin.

"Sure. He can handle it."

"Yes, but can the computer?" Ziva asked.

They worked in silence for a while and then a crease appeared in her forehead.

"Tony, this file is not about the McGees."

"Really? What is it then?" Tony asked coming over to join her.

"It is a case I have not heard of. A woman found beaten to death in southern Virginia. Her boyfriend was considered a suspect but not charged. No clear evidence." She picked up another file from the floor. "This is also not about McGee's family. It is a different case."

"What? Was he compiling a list of people he wanted to torment for all eternity?" Tony asked. He began looking through the file folders. "Double homicide in Florida. Unsolved. Rape and murder in North Carolina. Unsolved. What's going on here?"

Ziva looked at the files on the table and picked one from the bottom of a pile. She flipped it open and skimmed through it.

"He was writing a book, Tony."

"What? That's the yarn he was telling McGee."

"Maybe it _was _the truth...at first." She lifted up one page. "_Truth Revealed: Unsolved murders on the East Coast_. He was researching."

"Yeah. Maybe." Tony walked back to the wall and began examining a detailed map of Baltimore, marked with lines all centering on the location of Tim's house. "Even if he was...it didn't end that way."

"No. It did not."

They continued searching through the apartment for about an hour before Tony's phone rang. He looked at it.

"Oh, it's el Jefe."

"He should have been here already. Do you think that McGee had another...problem?"

Tony shrugged and answered. "Yeah, Boss?"

"_What have you found?"_

"A lot. It looks like Shands started out writing a book like he told McGee. I just don't think he was bothering with that later on."

"_Why?"_

"Ziva's been reading through a bunch of files on other unsolved murders on the East Coast. ...but everything that's tacked to the walls and the majority of the folders are all about the murder of McGee's parents. You on your way over here?"

"_No."_

"What's up?"

"_Gotta talk to some people."_

"About what? What's going on, Boss? Something else happen with McGee?"

"_Baltimore PD isn't interested in reopening the case on the strength of McGee's memory."_

Tony winced. "Can't say I'm surprised, Boss."

"_I'm not either, but that doesn't mean that's the end of it."_

"McGee said it would be."

"_Well, I'm not McGee."_

Tony grinned. "What are you gonna do, Boss? We can't investigate. No way."

"_Doesn't have to be us. Just has to be someone who will bother to look into it."_

"You thinking of someone in Baltimore PD?"

"_Nope."_

"Then, what?"

"_There are others who have the mandate to investigate."_

"You don't mean Fornell."

Silence.

"Boss, that's shaky ground at best."

"_Yep."_

"What do you want us to do?" Tony asked, figuring that it made little sense to try and talk Gibbs out of anything.

"_Finish up there and get everything back to NCIS. Make sure you give BPD access to it all. We don't want to step on their toes even if they're not going to expend a whole lot of effort on a guy who's at death's door."_

"Right." Tony heard the click...Gibbs for _good-bye_.

"They are not going to investigate?"

"No, but apparently, Gibbs is going to make the FBI get involved."

"Fornell will not be happy about that."

"Yeah, he will. He'll love it. Gibbs will owe him one."

"True." Ziva looked at another page. "Tony, listen to this. It must have been his introduction. _In this world, it has become more important to _look_ like you're doing the right thing than it is to _do_ the right thing. People get punished for honesty and rewarded for lies. We willingly overlook what is inconvenient in favor of the easy life. Even when the inconvenience is a murder, a life lost, ripped away from existence at the hands of the people they should be able to trust. The cases you'll find in these pages are "unsolved". The only reason they remain unsolved is because the truth was not convenient. A high-society boyfriend. A thrill seeker. ...and a ten-year-old boy, seemingly too innocent to be a murderer. If the criminal element of this country has shown us anything, it has shown us that there is no limit to the ills of society. There is no minimum age at which insanity can take over. You can be ten years old and pull a trigger._" She looked at Tony. "He had fixated on McGee from the beginning."

Tony was disgusted. "Sicko. He's... You know what, Ziva? I hope he dies. I hope that he never wakes up. ...and then I hope that there really is a Hell because if there is, he'll go straight down there and suffer way more than anything that could be inflicted on him here."

Ziva's eyes widened at his vehemence. "This man may indeed be a killer, Tony, but he did not kill McGee's parents."

"No, what he did was worse. If he could have, he would have taken his own frustration out a little kid and had no problem with trying to make McGee suffer. That's worse, especially if McGee is right about the people who killed his parents. Shands...Peterson...whatever his name is. He had this all planned out! It wasn't an accident!"

"True. I wonder..."

"What?"

"Which would McGee prefer?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim?"

The black pit of silence from the back seat remained unbroken.

"Tim."

Maria looked back. Tim was looking out the window, worrying at a thumbnail. He was barely blinking.

"Tim, we're at the hotel."

Tim nodded but still didn't speak.

"We have a couple of hours before your session. Are you hungry?"

Tim shook his head.

"Tim...talk to us."

Another head-shake.

Dan stopped the car. "Tim."

"No."

"Why not?"

A pause. "Because I'm not supposed to swear."

"Tim, you said yourself that was the end of it."

"I did."

"But it doesn't mean you're happy about it?"

"They could have at least tried," Tim said angrily.

"Maybe they will."

"They won't, Dad. They don't have any intention."

"Tim?"

"What."

"You've been calling me Dad."

To his relief, the anger faded from Tim's eyes and he smiled a little.

"Yeah, I have."

"And you've been calling Maria Mom."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

The smile widened just a bit.

"It doesn't scare me anymore."

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

"Why did it before?"

The smile faded. "Because my parents died."

"What do you mean?" Dan asked, turning around to face Tim directly. "That hasn't changed."

"No, it hasn't. ...but now...I know what happened."

"Why does that make a difference?" Maria asked.

Tim shrugged.

"Why, Tim?"

"Because...Because...I don't...have to think that my parents will always die."

"Oh, Tim," Maria began.

"I used to...to imagine that it was something about me, that if I had parents...they'd die...because that's what happened."

Dan pulled into the parking space and Maria got out of the car, opened Tim's door, and pulled him into a tight hug.

"I love you, Tim."

"I love you, too...Mom."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_You're crazy, Gibbs."_

"That's all? You had me worried, Fornell."

"_Come on. A murder from twenty-three years ago? The FBI doesn't have jurisdiction to investigate that."_

Gibbs sat in his car, listening. "You could. I don't think Baltimore PD would fight you for it. They don't care enough to look into it."

"_Why not?"_

"Because of McGee. They don't trust his story. I asked them myself. He's too iffy in their minds. His breakdown at the house wasn't pretty."

"_You think his memory is trustworthy? That's a long time between the event and the memory."_

"What'll it hurt to look?"

"_It'll hurt McGee if nothing comes of it."_

"Couldn't hurt him any more than the fact that he knows they don't trust him enough to bother trying. He's already said that he knows it might not be possible to find the guys who did it."

"_And you think that there's something to find?"_

"Yes."

"_You seem pretty sure."_

"McGee's reliable. He didn't try to pretend that he knew more than he could remember."

Fornell didn't speak for a few seconds.

"You gonna make me beg, Tobias?"

"_Would you?"_

"Please."

Another silence.

"_Is it that important?"_

"Yeah. This is a story that should have ended a long time ago."

Fornell sighed. _"I'll see what I can do. Your man around to answer questions?"_

"Should be back in DC already. I can request the case file if you're interested."

"_Fine. Do that. You owe me. Big time."_

Gibbs grinned as he hung up and got out of the car.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Dan and Maria had finally convinced Tim to get something to eat and they were just heading out of the restaurant when Tim's phone rang. He didn't want to answer it. What could anyone have to say right now that he wanted to hear? ...but habit won out.

"McGee," he said in resignation.

"_Good evening, Agent McGee."_

"Agent Fornell?"

"_Give the man a gold star. How you feeling, kid?"_

"Confused. What do you want?"

"_Ah, definitely one of Gibbs' agents. Most people would be polite after such a friendly inquiry."_

"Sorry. What's going on, Agent Fornell?"

"_Do you have time to talk?"_

"About what?"

"_Your parents' case."_

Tim looked at Dan and Maria as his eyes widened with surprise. "What?"

"_I'm going to reopen your parents' case."_

"The FBI is going to–?"

"_Yes."_

"Why?"

"_Because it's not a closed case yet and you have information that could change that."_

"Why do you even know about it?" Tim asked...and then answered his own question. "Gibbs told you."

"_Got it."_

"You don't have to do this, Fornell. There might not be anything to find."

"_You're right on both counts. I've got the time and I think my bosses would like me out of the way for a while. Gibbs is already getting me the case file, but I'll need to hear your story. Can you come in?"_

It didn't take more than a second to decide. "Of course. When?"

"_Now? Does that work for you?"_

"Yes."


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Fornell sat back and considered the man sitting in front of him. It was no wonder that BPD hadn't been enthused about trying to investigate this. Tim, for all that he was earnest and clear, still had an air of...a disturbed mind about him. He wasn't firing on all cylinders just yet and it showed. To Fornell, who at least knew him a little bit, that was simply an indication that he'd been going through a lot the last few days and was having a hard time recovering. To strangers, it made Tim look unhinged...and not a reliable witness.

"Well?" Tim asked.

Fornell tried to decide just how delicately he needed to speak.

"Well, what?"

Tim sighed and shook his head. "I know it's not much to go on."

"No, it's not. We may not be able to find anything, McGee."

"I know. It's been a long time and I can't give you the kind of details that would make your job easier. What are you going to do?" There was a faint air of challenge in the question.

Fornell smiled. "We're going to investigate, of course. I just can't guarantee anything."

Tim smiled in return. "I don't expect guarantees. I just want to know if it's possible to find who killed my parents. If it's not possible, fine. ...but I'd like to know, not just have to live with the possibility."

"As long as we're on the same page."

"We're not," Tim said, bluntly. "This can't mean to you what it means to me. ...but if you'll try, that's all I ask."

"We'll try, McGee. I'm not in the habit of making promises that don't mean anything."

Tim nodded. "Is that everything you need from me?"

"Yes. If we have more questions, we'll call."

Tim stood up. "Thank you, Agent Fornell. Believe it or not, I really do appreciate what you're doing. You don't have to and I appreciate that you are."

There was something in the way Tim was standing, in his eyes, that made Fornell wonder just how well he was holding himself together. He seemed eager to leave, to get away from them...and he saw no reason to try and keep Tim there any longer.

"My pleasure, Agent McGee. We'll keep you informed."

Tim nodded and hurried out. Sacks walked over and sat in Tim's vacated chair.

"So?"

"So what?"

"What are we doing, Fornell?"

"We're going to Baltimore. What do _you_ think?"

"You really think we'll find anything?"

"Won't know until we look...tomorrow."

Sacks rolled his eyes but stood to go. "What about the case file from Baltimore?"

Fornell looked over at his other team member, a recent addition. "Hales!"

"Yes, sir?"

"There's a case file on its way here courtesy of Agent Gibbs from NCIS. When it gets here, I want you to go through it with a fine-tooth comb. Call if you find anything of note."

"Yes, sir!"

Fornell suppressed a grimace and walked out.

"I'll be glad when she stops almost saluting," he grumbled.

"Ah, I'll bet you really like it," Sacks said with a grin.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_One day later..._

"Wow. These private schools really have the money," Fornell remarked as he and Sacks got out of the car at the John P. Kennedy Academy. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised with a Kennedy as the namesake."

"I went to a place like this," Sacks said. "Not quite so ritzy, but a private school."

"Really?"

"Hard to believe, huh?" Sacks asked, smiling.

"And you turned out all right. Go figure."

"Not everyone who goes to private school turns psycho, Fornell. We weren't all privileged idiots."

"Really?"

Sacks rolled his eyes and stepped inside. They headed for the main office. The woman in behind the counter looked up with a smile as they came in.

"Hello, welcome to Kennedy A. What can I do for you?"

"I'm Agent Fornell and this is Agent Sacks. FBI," Fornell said, pulling out his badge.

The friendly smile faded and became concern. "Oh. What is the FBI doing here? Something happened to one of the students?"

Fornell smiled. "No. This is actually about a cold case we're investigating. Do you have anyone on staff who was working here twenty-three years ago?"

"Twenty-three years? Wow. I was twelve. Ummm...Yes. Yes, there are a couple of teachers who have been here that long. I haven't...obviously." She smiled. "Mr. Larsen...and...and... Mr. Jerkins. They've been here for ages. The head of the school, Jackson Keys, just retired last year, but he'd been here for...forever."

"Where are Mr. Larsen and Mr. Jerkins?"

"They're both on the main floor. Just down the hall and the last two doors before you get to the exit. Mr. Larsen is on the left. Mr. Jerkins is on the right. May I ask what the case is?"

"Murder of one of the teachers who worked here."

"Oh. Levi McGee?"

"Now, how did you know that?"

She smiled and pointed behind them, out into the hallway.

"I see him every morning when I come in to work."

Fornell and Sacks turned around in surprise and noticed the memorial plaque they'd bypassed on their first entrance.

_In memory of Levi McGee, a dedicated teacher  
__(Plaque made by the shop class of 1987)_

There was a picture of a man who bore a strong resemblance to Tim, gesticulating wildly, standing on his desk. The students around him were all laughing and clapping their hands.

"That's him?"

"I'm told he got really excited about his subject matter."

"What did he teach?"

"Math."

"Wow. He's a math teacher?"

"Yeah. None of _my _math teachers ever got that excited."

"Nor mine," Sacks said.

"I asked what he was teaching that day. They said that it was his trig class. Sines, cosines..." She shrugged. "I don't know. He loved it."

"I guess so. Down the hall?"

"Yeah. They told me that no one ever found out who killed him and his wife. You know?"

"We're looking into it."

"Wow. I hope you do."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony sighed and stared at the screen with Hank Peterson's name. He wished he knew what to say about all this...but he didn't.

"So..." Abby took a breath and began. "...I looked through Peterson's...Shands'...Peterson's...what am I supposed to call him?"

"Just finish, Abbs," Gibbs said.

"Peter...Shands's computer and I found some things in it...and...he was...writing a book. It looks like every case he picked was a case where there was an instantly guilty-looking party and then the police backed off. Every one. And...I don't know why he picked Tim...unless he decided that he was too happy. I looked up some of the other suspects and most of them are just run-of-the-mill stuff. Tim wrote a book. He was successful and happy and...and maybe that just wasn't right to Shands. I don't know. He didn't say."

"And about seven different people said they saw him in Quantico," Tony said.

"His fingerprints are at the scene," Ziva added. "It does not seem to be likely that this is all a coincidence...and his obsession with McGee would seem to be the link between the Campbells and Shands. Why he chose them...I do not know, but if he was willing to kill, he was going to choose somebody."

"So...now what? What do we tell Tim?" Abby asked.

"The truth," Gibbs said. "It looks like Shands killed the Campbells and he had started off writing a real book."

"And what will that mean to him?"

"Who knows?" Tony said. "But trying to lie won't help."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Man, there's something about a closed classroom door. It makes me feel like I've done something wrong," Sacks said.

"Guilty conscience?"

"Maybe."

"I thought you were a good student."

"I never said that. I just said I wasn't a privileged idiot." He knocked.

"Come in!"

The two agents came into a classroom that had murals on every bare inch of wall space. The walls that weren't covered in murals were covered by bookshelves. This was clearly the classroom of long-time resident. The resident in question was sitting at a desk that was aggressively organized but almost buried beneath piles of paper. Mr. Larsen himself was completely bald and rather on the rotund side. His tie was an offensive combination of neon colors that would either grab your attention or make you close your eyes in horror.

"Yes? What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Larsen?"

"That's the name on my door. You guys cops?"

"FBI."

Mr. Larsen's eyes widened in appreciation but twinkled. "Wow. FBI coming to talk to me? What have I done? I thought I'd been toeing the line pretty well. I even pay my parking tickets...which, incidentally, are cheaper than parking costs in some places."

Fornell laughed. "I'm Agent Fornell. We're investigating a cold case involving a former member of the faculty here."

"Levi?" he asked. "Oh, don't bother acting coy. He's the only faculty member I can think of...and if you're talking to me, it must be something a while ago."

"That's right. I'm Agent Sacks."

"Well, have a seat, gentlemen. What can I do for you that I didn't do for the police twenty years ago?"

"We'd like to ask you about some of your students, if you can remember them."

Mr. Larsen bristled slightly. "Pardon me, but even if I'm older than you, Agent Sacks, I'd be willing to bet that I only have a year or two on your partner here. If I was having memory problems, I'd be out the door. Students take advantage of weakness. That's why I don't do drama anymore. I don't have the stamina to run around, shouting at kids who think it's cool to climb on the scaffold."

"No offense. You must have had a lot of students over the years."

"If you have students in mind, I'm guessing that they must have been significant in some way."

"It's possible."

"Well, Gary...Jerkins, he's been here a couple of years longer than I have. In fact, he's retiring soon. What I may not remember, he probably will. He's our crazy chemistry teacher."

"We were going to talk to him, too."

"Might as well get the two old geezers at once, right?"

Fornell smiled. "If you'd prefer it."

No matter what he said, Mr. Larsen showed no sign of physical debility as he got up and walked to the hallway...and shouted.

"Gary!"

A fainter shout in reply. "What?"

"Get over here! We need some twenty-year-old gossip!"

"On my way!"

Mr. Larsen walked back to his desk and sat down. It took only seconds for Mr. Jerkins to join them. He was slightly bent, but still taller than both FBI agents, skinny...and he had a hairstyle that would have made Einstein green with envy. Where Mr. Larsen was colorful, Mr. Jerkins was gray, from his wild hair to his tie to his pants to his shoes.

"Gossip? About what?"

"Students."

"Oh...I thought it was going to be interesting. What is it?"

"Oh, this is interesting. These two FBI agents..."

Mr. Jerkins was suddenly interested. "FBI? Wow."

"They're looking at Levi's murder."

"Wow," he said again in a different tone. "Why now?"

"New information has come to light."

"You don't want to say. Okay. I can play. Why students? And which ones?"

Mr. Jerkins grabbed a chair and sat down, facing them.

"Ask away," he said with a smile.

"Thank you," Fornell said, interested in these two rather eccentric teachers. He rather thought he would have enjoyed having them in school. "We don't have the names of the students, but we know at least one incident that _you _might know about."

"Okay. What happened?"

"Apparently a group of kids were caught skinning live squirrels...and they were caught by Levi McGee."

Both Mr. Jerkins and Mr. Larsen leaned back, looked at each other and then nodded.

"Yeah, I know what you're talking about," Mr. Larsen said. "I don't think I'd ever seen Levi so angry as he was at that circus."

Mr. Jerkins laughed. "I thought he was going to punch out Jackson...and he probably deserved it. If it had happened ten years later, Jackson would have been experienced enough not to let the parents get to him...but he was still pretty new to the job at the time...and he caved so deep spelunkers couldn't have found him."

"So...you know what students we're talking about?"

"Oh, I know. ...and I know the incident you're asking about it. The squirrels weren't the half of it. They were just the obvious evidence."

Now thoroughly intrigued, Fornell leaned forward. "So what happened?"

It was clear that Mr. Larsen loved to tell stories and he was more than willing to relate what he knew. "Those three punks. They were juniors but they acted like they were kings...and not the lovely benevolent kings. We're talking Caligula, Vlad the Impaler and Ivan the Terrible. ...or they would have been if they could have been. I had no idea what they'd been doing before Levi caught them at it. If ever corporal punishment should have been reinstated."

"What did they do?" Sacks asked, surprised at the fire expressed after so long.

Mr. Jerkins answered. "They used the squirrels to bully other kids. I'm not talking about some light teasing or even the wedgies and more mild things like that. We try to stop them when they happen, but this was on another level entirely. They'd catch the squirrels, pick out their target and then take them out behind the school and skin the squirrels while telling the kid that's what they were going to do to them if they didn't do exactly what they were told. They threatened bodily harm in order to force other students to do humiliating things."

"And we're fairly sure that they actually _were_ violent although we never did get evidence of that," Mr. Larsen said. "The students in question wouldn't admit to it. They were unholy terrors on the school...and it's a black mark on the faculty that we never realized how far it went. It was only luck that Levi saw it. The student they were threatening that day was supposed to be taking a makeup test after school. He saw the whole thing."

"And I saw him lose it," Mr. Jerkins said, taking up the story again. "I think he cowed those boys just because they'd never seen him angry before. Levi had a temper but he _never_ showed it to the students. Even in faculty meetings, he only showed his frustration if something utterly ridiculous was being discussed. Very black-and-white sense of right and wrong...and occasionally, his tact muscles would seize up and he'd unleash a very wicked tongue."

"He was violent?" Fornell asked, surprised that Tim's dad might be so different from the agent he knew.

"No! Absolutely not! You're getting the wrong idea. He wasn't violent...but he had a pair of lungs and the vocabulary to match. I always thought that if he hadn't decided to be a teacher he would have made a great drill sergeant."

"So what happened? I'm guessing from what you said before that they didn't get a good enough punishment for Levi McGee."

"They didn't get _any_ punishment," Mr. Larsen said with disgust. "Levi hauled them in to Jackson's office and made them sit there while he said what he'd seen. He even brought the squirrels with him. No one could accuse him of being squeamish. But from what Levi said, those boys were better actors in that office than they _ever_ were in drama. Levi's shouting could be heard almost anywhere in the building. I'm surprised he didn't get fired."

"And the end result of it was that they were told that if they transferred immediately to another school that there would be nothing in their records," Mr. Jerkins finished.

"What?" Sacks asked, appalled.

"Yeah, that's pretty much my reaction. Levi's was much worse. Jackson's justification was that they were just kids and kids did stupid things sometimes. Levi wanted to report them to the police, but he was forced to keep his mouth shut."

"And you never told the police about this after Levi was killed?"

"Wait," Mr. Jerkins said, leaning forward. "Are you implying that you think it was these students who–? I read what the bodies were like. It's a long leap from squirrels to people."

"We have a lead and we need to look into it. Can you tell me the names of these students?"

Mr. Larsen nodded. "Yeah, I can. One of them won't do you any good, though."

"Why not?"

"Because one of the trio, Ryan Duvall, committed suicide just before he graduated. It was in the news."

"Really? Ryan?"

"Yes. Ryan Duvall. If you ask me, he was the one most likely to do something stupid, but the least likely to come up with it himself."

"The other two?"

"David Whesler and Lawrence Rivers. I couldn't tell you what _they're_ doing, though. Nothing newsworthy."

"That's all right. We'll find out."

Mr. Larsen smiled. "You're the FBI. I'm sure you will. Any more questions?"

"Do you know whether or not those three students took it well? Being transferred?"

Mr. Jerkins just shrugged. "It happened really fast. They were gone by the next school day. So I have no idea. They never came back to my knowledge."

"What about their victim?" Fornell asked.

"He was a whole lot happier with them gone. He must have been a regular of theirs, but he didn't ever say anything."

"Thanks for your information."

"More excitement than we old geezers have had for a while."

Fornell chuckled and stood up. He shook their hands and then he and Sacks walked out of the building.

"Now what?" Sacks asked. "One is dead? The other two? We can track them down, and there's certainly something that went on...but what evidence do we have that they're guilty? No fingerprints, no witnesses besides McGee."

"One step at a time, Sacks. Let's take a few more."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Two days later..._

"_Dr. Michaels, Code Blue. Room 215. Code Blue, Room 215."_


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

_Three weeks later..._

**Breaking news: Bizarre double murder, home invasion linked to cold case**

_Baltimore (AP) - What does the murder of a Marine and his wife, the home invasion of a young couple in Baltimore, and a federal agent have in common? The answer is a twenty-three-year-old unsolved double murder, one that is now allegedly solved with the arrests of New York businessman Lawrence Rivers, 41, and Baltimore handyman David Whesler, 40, by the FBI over the weekend. The whole story is as twisted and frightening as a nightmare and has led to loss of life, loss of security, and loss of happiness for a number of people._

_The sordid tale begins with Rivers, Whesler and another young man, Ryan Duvall, all students of the John P. Kennedy Academy in Baltimore in 1987. They were known bullies. One of their many victims, Victor Barney, now a CPA in Connecticut, said that they would threaten him by torturing animals and saying that if he did not do what they wanted, up to and including theft from the school, they would do the same to him. They were caught by a teacher, Levi McGee and subsequently transferred to another school in an effort to cover up the incidents. Unfortunately, that cover-up only served as protection for three young men who were able to get away with murder for more than twenty years._

_The FBI alleges that Rivers, Whesler and Duvall were upset about being caught and forced to leave a school where they ruled with an iron fist and they intended to get revenge. "They went to the McGee home at one thirty in the morning, cut the phone lines, and broke inside. Their intention was to play a vicious prank on the teacher they blamed for their changed status," FBI spokesman Lance Robinson told the press. "However, what happened there was a lot worse than a prank." It was much worse. It became murder._

_The sequence of events as pieced together by investigators is that Levi and Nora McGee's young son, Timothy, heard the students downstairs and woke up his parents. Levi McGee went down to confront them, but little did he know how disastrous that course of action would prove to be. They overpowered their former teacher and forced him upstairs to the bedroom where his wife was waiting. Finding her there, the boys decided to incorporate her into their plot. The prank had originally been to tie up McGee, force him into Goth clothing, dye his hair, paint his nails and then put makeup on him. They had then planned to take photos of him and spread them around._

_Where do these details come from? They come from a dead man. Duvall suffered from depression all through his senior year of high school and committed suicide in 1988, three days before graduation. His suicide note, never revealed by his family had told of the prank but not the victims of it and without referring to the horrible outcome of said prank, only that the act was something he could not get over. What was the reason for such remorse? Such grief?_

_"We never understood what he meant," said Melissa Duvall-Grayson. "After he was transferred, he just seemed to change. A lot. Nothing could get him out of it. He told me once that he didn't see how he could live his life with what he'd done. I knew he'd been a bully at school, but I never understood why he was suddenly feeling so much remorse."_

_Perhaps it was the one left behind. The murders seem to have been accidental. As near as can be determined without an eyewitness account, Nora McGee tried to escape from the young men and was shot first, in the face. Her husband then tried to attack them and was shot in the throat. Neither wound was instantly fatal. Both Levi and Nora McGee survived for about a minute after the bullets hit them. Duvall shot Nora McGee and then retreated to the first floor of the McGee home. Rivers shot his former teacher and then he and Whesler joined Duvall._

_What none of these men knew was that there was a witness. Young Timothy McGee, ten years old at the time, was in the bathroom, trembling in fear, hiding in a laundry hamper while his parents were brutally murdered. For the next four days, his terror would keep him there until the smell of his parents' decomposing corpses alerted a neighbor. He was discovered by then-detective Uriah Jones, now retired and living in Baltimore._

_"I'd never seen such a traumatized kid. Heck, I'd never seen an adult so traumatized. Tim was the epitome of a tortured soul. I'll admit that I was afraid he would be one of those kids who couldn't recover from the damage inflicted by the trauma. Thankfully, he proved me wrong."_

_But the road wasn't easy for Timothy McGee. He has been in therapy ever since that fateful night, although once he finished college, his therapy was only as a way of touching base. However, his trauma was so intense that he forgot everything that happened, a development that not only stymied the investigation but also led some to suspect that he himself had killed his parents accidentally and was simply try to cover up his crime._

_In spite of the doubts of some, including the police, Timothy McGee, who was adopted by his father's twin brother Dan McGee, managed to grow up, if not normal, at least secure in the love of his new family. He showed himself to be quite smart and graduated from high school a full two years early, attending MIT and Johns Hopkins. What did such a promising young man do with his life? Did he become a doctor? Perhaps a famous scientist? No, Timothy McGee decided to become a federal agent. By accident? No._

_"My father had been a teacher. He wanted me to become a well-educated gentleman," Timothy said with a self-conscious smile. "But I couldn't see myself being an academic, not with what had happened to my father. In a way, I knew that I needed to go into law enforcement to figure out what had happened on the night my parents were killed."_

_Now, we move from the past closer to the present. We have discovered the federal agent, but how did he become connected to the home invasion and the murder? That requires the introduction of one other player, the man who brought together people who, otherwise, would never have known of each other's existence._

_That man is Henry "Hank" Peterson. He was a defense attorney in New Jersey until he was disbarred for revealing information about his client, alleged gang leader Marco De Silva. In 2000, he let it be known that De Silva had confessed to his guilt in the murder of a rival gang leader. De Silva was killed and for breaching lawyer-client privilege, Peterson was disbarred. He subsequently hid himself from the public eye, resurfacing in 2005 under the name of Ellis Shands, an author working on a true crime book. Somewhere in the course of his research, he came upon the McGee case._

_"For some reason, the case of Levi and Nora McGee became his obsession," says medical examiner Dr. Donald Mallard. "All of the cases he had chosen seem to be with the intention of revealing what he saw as the truth, trying to prove that his actions as an attorney were justifiable no matter the outcome, simply because he had told the truth. We can theorize all we like as to the reasons that Timothy became his target, but we will never know. It is likely that he himself could not have explained why it was this particular case."_

_Friends of Peterson recall a man who had always been driven to his own particular perception of justice. Usually, that justice squared with the law, but when it didn't... "You couldn't ever stop Hank from doing what he thought was right," said attorney Darlene Ivie. "I guess we were just lucky that what he felt was right was usually what the law said was right. After the De Silva case, I never saw him again. I figured he'd become one of those hermits. I wish I'd been right about that."_

_Unfortunately, Peterson's obsession led him to a two-year secret investigation into everything he could find about the McGee case. Living in a small basement apartment in the suburbs of Baltimore, he tracked down every clue he could find. He came to the conclusion that Timothy McGee had indeed killed his own parents. That meant that he was living a good life that was based on a lie. Peterson took it on himself to make sure that lie was broken. His determination led him to murder._

_Glenn and Irene Campbell knew nothing of Peterson, of the McGees, nor of the sordid role they would play in this story. Again, the reasons for Peterson's choice is unknown, but it is clear that he watched them for days before beginning the plan he had decided would reveal the truth of the McGee murders. He followed Glenn Campbell, a Lance Corporal in the USMC, home one evening and killed both him and his wife with a single gunshot to the heart. Then, he dyed their hair, painted their nails and arranged them in a way that he assumed would lead to a confession of guilt by Timothy McGee when agents were called in to investigate._

_He was wrong. Timothy McGee, while upset when the realization came that this was somehow related to his parents' deaths, felt no need to confess to anything. Instead, he and the rest of the investigators focused on trying to understand what the intention of the killer was._

_Failure to elicit a confession did not drive Peterson to give up. Instead, he began the second phase of his plan, which is where the last part of this complicated story comes in: the home invasion._

_Aaron and Jillian Browning had no idea, when they bought their dream house, that they were buying the home of Levi and Nora McGee. They had no idea that a murder had been committed there. They also had no idea that it had been sold and resold ten times in the twenty-three years since the murders had taken place. All they knew was that they had the house they wanted._

_"It was such a reasonable price," Jillian said. "We had an inspector check over every part of the house for any hidden damages. There was nothing. The house was beautiful. It had a lovely backyard and the interior had been renovated fairly recently. We loved it."_

_However, by living in the old McGee house, they created ready-made targets for Peterson. He came to their house, took Jillian hostage and attacked her husband when he got home from work._

_"It happened so fast," Aaron said. "I didn't have time to think."_

_The next few hours were horrific for the couple. Peterson tied them, blindfolded and gagged them. Then, he left them alone in the house. When he returned, he had another man with him. That man was Timothy McGee. Peterson had attacked him and forced him to the house._

_What happened next brought the past and the present into inextricable contact. Peterson demanded that Timothy McGee tell him that he had killed his parents. Timothy tried to convince him that he didn't remember what had happened, but Peterson refused to believe him. He began to shoot at the helpless couple on the floor, threatening to kill them if Timothy didn't confess. In his fear for the lives of the Brownings, Timothy attacked Peterson and managed to overpower him. However, that triumph was short-lived. Injured as he was, Timothy could not hold off Peterson for long. Another struggle ensued and during that struggle, Peterson was shot. The shock of the moment, combined with his injury and the horror of knowing that the lives of others hinged on something he couldn't remember led to a total breakdown._

_"It was like I'd gone back in time and was reliving everything that had happened when my parents were killed," Timothy said, holding back tears. "I didn't actually see a lot, but everything I'd heard, the fear I felt, and the moments of watching my parents die...I was overwhelmed by it all and those memories took over. All I could think to do was hide from the danger. I'm ashamed to admit it but I couldn't think of anything but those memories. I left the Brownings tied up on the floor and I hid in the bathroom like my father had told me to do all those years ago."_

_Shameful? Perhaps, but having spoken with Timothy about what he saw, hearing his account of those four days confined with the bodies of his parents, I would challenge any person to keep themselves from reacting to those memories._

_Peterson suffered a gunshot to his abdomen and lingered in a coma for approximately a week before dying of his injuries in Maryland General Hospital. Whatever his ultimate motivations, he has taken them to his grave._

_What happens now? For the family of the Campbells, the only comfort is that they know who killed their son and daughter. It is a cold comfort but the best they can hope for in the circumstances. They chose not to be interviewed for this story. For the Brownings, they will not be selling the home in which the McGees were killed._

_"It's our home," Aaron said. "The only way for a stigma to be broken is to refuse to pander to it."_

_Jillian agrees. "I loved this house from the first time I saw it. That hasn't changed. If it takes some time to feel comfortable and safe here again, I'm willing to take that time."_

_What of Timothy McGee? What of the coming trial of Lawrence Rivers and David Whesler? Two men being brought to justice more than two decades after the crime they allegedly committed took place._

_They will be arraigned on Monday for two counts each of conspiracy, breaking and entering, accessory to murder and second degree murder. After so long, what will come of this?_

_"There will be a trial if they choose to plead not guilty," Robinson said. "That's how the process works. Whether they are found innocent or guilty is now in the hands of the justice system."_

_Does Timothy McGee agree? He lost his family at a young age, dealt with long-term psychological trauma and became the target of a man bent on delivering "justice" as he saw it. Is he satisfied to let the justice system work?_

_"Yes," Timothy said. "After all this time, I want to see justice done, but if it is determined that they are innocent, that what I remember is wrong, then I will live with that. I lived with not knowing anything for years. What I've remembered is horrible but I can live with that, too."_

_Will that be easy?_

_"No. It won't be easy if they are found guilty either. My life was nearly destroyed by the murder of my parents. Nothing that is done now can ever change that, but my life is not devoid of meaning. I have family. I have friends. I have a job I love. That's more than many people can say. If there are parts of my past that cause me pain, all I can do is try not to let them take over my life."_

_As the final parts of this twisted tale come to pass, it shows how interconnected this world has become, how interconnected we all are whether we know it or not._

_One man has the power to wreak havoc on the lives of many. Another man has the power to save the lives of others. For Timothy McGee, the twists and turns of his life have led him to a final understanding of himself. Regaining his childhood memories has been painful. Would he give them up if he could?_

_"Two weeks ago, I would have said yes. I would have said that there was nothing good that could come out of knowing what I saw and heard and felt, but now, I feel as though knowing what happened during those four days has made parts of myself clearer. Dealing with it isn't easy, but perhaps it's best to know the worst that life holds. Then, nothing else can be quite as bad."_

_This story will continue to be updated as the trials of Lawrence Rivers and David Whesler begin. Keep reading for–_

Tim closed the newspaper and set it aside, choosing to stare aimlessly at his computer screen instead. It was strange reading about himself in such black and white terms. It was like reading about a stranger. He sounded so sane and so...so normal. He didn't feel normal at all. He didn't feel like he'd managed to sound so intelligent. He remembered a lot more stammering during that interview.

"You're here early, Tim," Abby said as she got off the elevator. "You've beat us all today."

"Couldn't sleep. Another nightmare."

She looked at the paper on his desk. "Have you–? Oh, you've got it already."

Tim smiled. "Yeah, I have it. Just finished reading."

Abby walked over to him, almost tentatively. He was back at work but everyone knew that he was still seeing his therapist every day and everyone knew that he was still having some trouble.

"It was...pretty good...wasn't it?"

"I guess. They put in a lot more detail than I thought they would."

"At least it was accurate."

"Yeah...and it depicted me as a man who triumphed over adversity rather than someone who spent most of his life terrified about things he couldn't remember. Pretty good."

"Tim..."

"I'm alright, Abby," Tim said. "Not perfect, but...all right."

"You sure?"

"Positive. I'm just not as amazing as they say in this article. The DA already told me that I'll have to testify at the trial. So far, Rivers and Whesler aren't admitting to anything. We'll see what happens."

"It's going to be good, Tim. It is."

Tim smiled a little bitterly. "Abby, we can't know that...and what _is_ good? To know that teenagers killed my parents? To know that they didn't? Maybe if I had remembered back then...maybe a lot of people would still be alive. Maybe..."

"Maybe, and maybe _other_ people would be dead instead, Tim. You can't know what might have happened. You can't!"

"Yeah, I know." He sighed. "It's just that...every step I take seems to mean that there's just as many more steps to take. I wanted it to be over before...but it's still not."

"It is...sort of. I mean, now there's only the trial...and once you...you testify, you won't have anything else to do! You can just...just be you!"

"Sounds easy, doesn't it."

"Well, no, but it's true!"

Tim chuckled. "Thanks, Abbs. I'll keep trying."

"You'll make it! I know you will!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Anytime. You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Abby started to walk away, but then she turned back. "Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever...you know...go and see your...parents' graves?"

"Yeah. On Memorial Day, I usually go. They're buried in Baltimore."

"Makes sense. Um...the next time you go...could I come with you?"

Tim's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Because I want to...to see."

"Abby, you won't know my parents any better by seeing their graves. It's just their names and the dates."

"But they're a part of _you_! I want to know...and be a part of...of ...that part...of you."

Tim laughed again. "Abby, I can tell you about my parents."

"No, I want to know that, but...can I? Sometime?"

"Yeah. Sure. If you want, I'll...tell you the next time I go."

"Thanks, Tim." Abby pushed the elevator button.

"Abby?"

"Yes?" Abby turned around.

"I was...going to go to Baltimore...on the weekend. If you want to come."

Abby smiled. "I would love to."


	27. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Twenty-five years ago..._

"Mom! Mom!"

The terrified voice pulled both Levi and Nora out of sound sleep. Nora felt a hand shaking her shoulder.

"Mom!"

She rolled over quickly. "What is it? Tim, what's wrong?"

"I dreamed...I had a...a bad dream!"

Nora sat up. "What was it?"

"You died! I saw you...in the coffin. Like...like Grandma Irving was! Only it was you! ...and the...the little baby!"

Tears were in his eyes as he told of his nightmare. Nora looked at Levi who sighed quietly. They had realized before that telling Tim about the miscarriage was a mistake. Not understanding just what it meant, he had turned it into a full-grown younger sibling who had died...and with Nora's mother dying just a week after, death was too much on Tim's mind.

"Come on the bed, Tim," Nora said, lifting the covers.

Tim climbed into the middle, between his parents. He was shaking a little as Nora put her arms around him.

"Now, it was only a dream."

"But Grandma really died!"

"I know she did, but she was old and sick. It happens."

"But the little baby that..."

"Tim," Levi said, clearing his throat, "we told you that was a miscarriage. It means that it had only barely started to grow in your mom's tummy."

"But it was alive...wasn't it?"

"Not in the same way you were when you were born."

"But you cried! Both of you cried!"

Nora rocked Tim back and forth.

"That's because we are sad about it, but Tim, it wasn't even a boy or a girl yet. We only knew that we could have a baby, not anything more. You don't have to be scared about it happening again. You don't have to be scared of us dying."

"But what if you do?"

Levi smiled. "We won't. We're too young to die."

"But what if you do?" Tim asked again with the dogged insistence only an eight-year-old could muster.

Nora looked Tim straight in the eye. "Tim, if your dad or I died, then you'll just have to look for us somewhere else."

"Where?"

"Inside of you. You'll have to dream of us because we won't be here when you're awake, but we can always be there when you sleep. ...and if we die, we'll still be watching you. Okay?"

"Promise?"

"I promise. No matter what. Now...do you want to sleep with us tonight?"

Tim sniffed and nodded.

"Okay, sport," Levi said. "But no kicking."

Tim smiled, snuggled down between his parents and fell asleep quickly. Nora watched him breathe and then looked at Levi who hadn't fallen asleep either.

"Next time, Levi, we're not telling him until we're sure," she said softly.

"All right."

"Levi?"

"What?"

"What if we _do_ die? What will happen to Tim?"

Levi looked at her and Nora knew this was one of those things he didn't want to talk about but knew needed to be talked about. Neither of them had a will. They'd kept putting it off, but Tim's questions...

"What do you think?" he asked. "Your family or mine?"

"Susan's a mess right now, and she wouldn't want to take on a little boy in any case. ...and I wouldn't want Tim raised by my brothers."

"Okay. So my family, then. How about Dan and Maria?"

"He's in the Navy."

"That doesn't make him evil, Nora."

"No, but it does mean that he could end up dead, too. Do we want to put Tim at risk of that happening twice? ...and to your twin brother?"

"Dan would love him. Maria would love him. I'm not saying that my other siblings wouldn't, but Dan and Maria would take him on no matter what. That matters."

"Dad?"

Levi looked down. Tim was only half awake.

"What?"

"You'll be there, too?"

"Where?"

"In my dreams? With Mom?"

"Yes."

"Good." Tim's eyes closed again.

"We need to make it official, just in case," Nora said, stroking Tim's hair.

"We will. Dan and Maria?"

Nora nodded.

"What if we do both die and Tim survives?" she asked, lying down once more.

"It won't happen."

"What if it does?"

"Tim's a strong kid. He'll manage."

Nora just looked at him and he knew what she meant.

"If that happens, Nora, it'll be because neither of us had any other option. Tim will never feel that we've abandoned him on purpose. Never."

"I love you, Levi."

"I love you, too."

Eventually, the entire McGee family was asleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Tim led Abby through the cemetery to a headstone which was near a small tree. In front of the headstone, where people usually placed potted plants, were a number of common daisies, growing in soil.

"Mom's favorite flower was the daisy," Tim said with a smile. "She said it was prettier than a rose because everyone wanted roses. So Dad always got her daisies on their birthday."

"_Their_ birthday?"

Tim nodded with a smile. "Mom and Dad had the same birthday and they made sure that they got married on their birthday. They tried to time my conception so that I'd be born on the same day. ...but I wasn't. Mom said it was because I refused to be pigeon-holed. I didn't know what that meant, but I figured it was a good thing."

Abby hugged him around the waist. "It _is_ a good thing. What about your dad?"

"I told you he taught math. His favorite was trigonometry. He had this thing he would make his classes chant."

"What?"

Tim laughed. "It went..." He stopped to think. "...'Sine! Cosine! Cosine! Sine! Cosine, sine to realign!'"

Abby giggled. "What does _that_ mean?"

"I don't know. Dad just thought it was funny and because he was willing to shout it at the top of his lungs, his students thought it was funny too. ...at least, Dad _said_ they did."

"Do you still miss them?"

Tim nodded. "Yeah. I do. That reporter...he asked me if I would have my parents back if I could. I didn't know how to answer it. Did you know...I never really dreamed of them being alive again. Sometimes, I forgot that my uncle wasn't my dad, but my dreams...never of them living. I just...I couldn't bring myself to wish for that because I was afraid they'd be dead again later. I told him I couldn't answer the question. It's...not something I even fantasized about."

Abby looked at the grave with its small plot of daisies and then she looked at Tim who was staring at the evidence of his loss.

"Maybe you can dream of them now...if you want to."

"I don't know if I do or not. I do have photo albums and...and stuff like that. I want to remember them alive, not dead. Them being dead has...has been part of my nightmares for years. I just want them to be alive in my memory. I don't want to remember them dying anymore, Abby."

"Maybe if...if you just accept that they _are_ dead, Tim...instead of ignoring it? I mean...I'm not Ducky. I'm not smart like that, but maybe... Would it have helped if you knew why Shands picked you?"

"I doubt it. Knowing how his mind works to the point that we do doesn't help. I just think it's going to take time. I just don't want to have to take the time. I've already done it once. I just don't want to do it again."

"Well, this time, you've got us, too," Abby said and hugged Tim again.

"I know." Tim returned the hug and looked away from the grave. "You know what?"

"What?"

"I'm done here. Let's go."

"Okay."

Tim and Abby left the cemetery together.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_One year later..._

Another anniversary came and went for Tim and he celebrated his parents' anniversary and their birthdays in his usual solitary fashion...but with one exception. There was no compulsion to draw them dead. In the months that had followed his regaining his memory, he had slowly cleared out all the copies he had drawn until there was only one left. The first one he had kept. He didn't feel he could throw it away, but he was relieved that there was no need to add to it either. Instead, he looked at it, put it away and then smiled at the photos he had finally hung on the walls of his apartment. Two family photos: Tim with Levi and Nora, taken the year before they had been killed, and Tim with Dan and Maria and their kids. It was a family photo from the year Sarah had graduated from high school, all of them together. There was a smaller photo of Danny and his family, a photo of Sarah from college, and Richard with his bride, Allison.

With a smile Tim turned out the lights and went to bed.

...and, for the first time, dreamed of his parents.

_I'm only a man  
__In a funny red sheet  
__I'm only a man  
__Looking for a dream_

_I'm only a man  
__In a funny red sheet  
__And it's not easy..._

**"This is ZNN reporting on the trials of Lawrence Rivers and David Whesler, the two men accused of killing Levi and Nora McGee twenty-four years ago. In a stunning reversal after the year-long trial, both men have changed their pleas from not guilty to guilty. Their attorneys claim it is because of their desire to spare their families. The surviving member of the McGee family, Timothy, could not be reached for comment. We will continue to bring you updates as the judge hears the official pleas and determines their sentences..."**

_It's not easy to be me _

FINIS!


End file.
